


Final Examinations

by punsandships



Series: Required Courses [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is a Good Boyfriend, Established Relationship, Hagrid gets good things, Harry is struggling, Harry sees a counselor, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Let's fix stuff, M/M, Original Agender Character - Freeform, Original first-year characters - Freeform, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Quidditch, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, but like, it's not getting more steamy than that, they kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punsandships/pseuds/punsandships
Summary: At the end of the war, Harry knew that the happiness would come. Now he's nearly finished with his eighth year at Hogwarts,and he's still waiting.He should feel happy. He's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to the first-year students, he has plenty of job offers for after he leaves Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy is a surprisingly good boyfriend.Happiness would come. Right?**Sequel to Required Courses from Harry's Point of View. It probably makes more sense to read that first, but do what you wish!**
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Required Courses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815202
Comments: 60
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter One

_ “Happiness would come, Harry thought, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps.” _

_ \--Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _

**Chapter 1**

Harry had been alone in the kitchen when the Hogwarts owl found him. 

He'd been surprised, because the Ministry wasn’t allowing direct owls to Harry. They’d already caught a couple of nasty hexes screening his mail. Harry had thought that, with Voldemort well and truly gone, he would finally be out of the woods. But he was wrong about this, like so many other things. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to leave the woods. 

He had been sitting alone in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, and that was another surprise: How much of victory he spent alone. So many people had promised to be with him until the end. And they were, but that was last month. 

Slicing open the envelope, Harry scanned the spiky handwriting. A personal invitation, not only to come back to Hogwarts next year for a final shot at finishing his education, but also to help. To be of use filling in the personnel gaps left by the war by teaching a couple of the Defense Against the Dark Arts courses. 

He'd accepted the offer even before Hermione's owl reached him, full of exclamations about being invited to finish their education and how they would be fools to turn down the opportunity. There was no need to convince him. He remembered what it had felt like to train Dumbledore’s Army and see the light in Neville’s eyes when he cast a solid stunning charm. He remembered what it felt like to be needed.

So he'd jotted off a note back, and the next few weeks had spun past full of trips to Diagon Alley with Ron and planning his curriculum with Hermione. Things that felt like motion again, like life. 

Maybe _ this _ meant he was out of the woods. 

*** *** *** 

It had been a nice idea, that coming back to Hogwarts would make everything better. But that was before he was trying to manage his own course work, teach two classes of first years and the eighth year class, and date Draco Malfoy. Right. That was one of the things he definitely hadn't predicted would happen when he returned. 

Of course, none of those things were bad--especially not the part where, after months of playing with the fire that was Draco Malfoy, Draco decided to play back. It was having them all going on at once that was the problem. 

Or having them all going on at once and also being who he was as a person. 

Right, that. That was the real problem. 

Harry paced back and forth in the narrow corridor outside the Headmistress's office. Why had it been easier to get an appointment with Dumbledore while Voldemort had been staging an uprising? He'd made this appointment a week in advance, and McGonagall was still making him wait outside while she wrapped up a floo-call with some student's concerned family.

The door swung open, seemingly under its own power, and he spotted the Headmistress settling back into the seat behind her desk. There were fewer whirring silver things in the office now, and no slumbering Fawkes. Harry found it easier to focus and far more difficult to breathe. 

"Have a seat, Mister Potter," Headmistress McGonagall invited. "But don't plan on staying too long. Minister Shacklebolt said he'd be popping by to talk to me this evening, and we have a great deal to discuss."

"I'll make this quick, then." He had waited a week to see her, plus the extra time standing outside the doorway, and now she wanted him to keep it short. He was about to be petty, and he didn't even care. "I just wanted to let you know, Headmistress McGonagall, that you have to find someone else to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, because I'm dating one of the students."

McGonagall's face paled and her glasses quivered at the end of her nose. Her glance flicked up to the line of headmaster's portraits, as if she was checking with them how she should respond. Harry looked up, too, as the buzz began. "One of his students? Entirely inappropriate--"

McGonagall swallowed. "Potter. You simply can't--"

"Draco and I are on the same page about this.” He gave a nod, like that would make him seem more sure. "We talked about waiting until we were out of Hogwarts, but we decided that's no good. Life's too short."

"Malfoy?" McGonagall's voice sounded flat, and Harry winced. He'd known there was a chance that she would take his relationship with Draco badly, but she had to find out eventually. Everyone else in the castle--and probably the entire town of Hogsmeade--knew. Headmistress McGonagall would, too, if she wasn't so busy trying to sort out the Ministry and dig Hogwarts out of the post-war administrative rubble. 

"That's right. We're together now."

McGonagall slumped forward, hiding her face in her hands, and Harry felt a pang. He wasn't going to change his mind about Draco just because of her reaction, but he hadn’t realized how guilty he would feel about her disappointment. She’d kept a stern eye on him since he was eleven, and he knew she didn’t always approve of the way he did things, but of course he wanted to make her proud. He opened his mouth to say something--to soften the blow somehow. 

And then he realized that her shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. She lifted her head. "Malfoy. Merlin, Potter. I thought you were speaking of one of your first year students. I thought, the one scandal Hogwarts hasn't endured, and it had to be this year. How could you do this to me? But Malfoy--" she broke off for a moment, trying to compose herself. "I do think you could do better, but he's been lurking around waiting for you long enough."

Harry's mouth was still gaping open, and he tried to form a question about what she meant by  _ that, _ but he couldn't seem to find the words. 

"And you're right, it's no good having you teaching the Defense class and giving marks when you're dating Malfoy. I'll talk to Longbottom about running the eighth year course instead of you. I think the teaching experience would be good for him. And you’ll go on teaching the first years, of course."

She was already looking away from him, pulling a stack of scrolls toward her and untying the first one. She had a list of things to do and no time to hear Harry's doubts about whether he should have been teaching the first years from the beginning. 

She didn't want to talk with him about his concern that a Gryffindor named Devon Hariot talked back constantly. Or that the closer they got to the end of the year, the more worried he was about sending Lacey Ketteridge home. Or that he really thought all the houses needed a place that wasn’t a  _ girl’s  _ dormitory or a  _ boy’s _ dormitory, where students like Sam could feel at home. 

The Headmistress was tired, the lines around her mouth and eyes were deeper than Harry had seen them, even when Umbridge had been in the castle. Not as bad as she'd been last year at the battle, but that was a pretty low bar. He hoped he didn't look that starved and exhausted, either.

His doubts wouldn't do either of them any good, so Harry swallowed. "Of course."

She nudged her biscuit tin at him before he left. "Have one, Potter. You look ragged."

He took one. Maybe they were imbued with some strengthening potion. Whatever was keeping McGonagall going, he needed some of it.

*** *** *** 

When Harry had been small, there had been the cupboard. It was dark. Defined. Finite. When he was forced to be there, he hated every moment. But when he had gone there on his own, it had been something else. The same place was his prison and his sanctuary, depending on who made the choice of putting him there.

He knew every part of the cupboard well. He knew the spiders and the nooks where he tucked his toy soldiers so that no one would see them. He knew the smell and dimensions of it, and there was never too much in the room to take in. He wondered, sometimes, if this was why he was so terrible at everything now, because he'd figured out how large everything was. How large all of the problems were. 

That had to be why he was sitting frozen in the Defense classroom after his meeting with McGonagall, staring at one of the first year’s essays on transformations. There had to be a reason why he couldn’t seem to read the rest of the words on the page, or why he couldn’t make even the smallest decisions about what to mark. 

He could have gone to the Common Room to do this, or up to the Library, where Hermione was probably enforcing another study session with Ron and Pansy and Draco. Maybe Neville and Ginny and Luna were there, too, trading notes and stories. 

But he never actually got anything done when he was in the same room as all of them. Nobody used the Defense classroom between now and dinner. He could work his way though the first-years' creative spelling and occasionally laughable misunderstandings here, alone. 

If he could get his brain to focus.

*** *** *** 

"Harry?"

His head jerked up, hand twitching for his wand. All the shadows in the Defense classroom were not where he had left them, and Draco Malfoy was leaning against the door frame in the almost-careless way he had perfected.

"Did you fall asleep grading papers?" 

"No. I was just closing my eyes to think."

"So you know about the ink on your face, then, do you?"

Harry huffed. Why was Draco bothering to ask whether he was asleep if he already knew the answer? Harry dropped his quill and made a swipe at his cheek.

"Stop," Draco snickered. "You're just smearing it everywhere. Let me help."

For a moment, Harry thought that it had actually been a brilliant way to get Draco to touch his face, which Harry could possibly transfigure into something more entertaining than marking the rest of these essays. But Draco raised his wand in a lazy twitch, and Harry felt the buzz on his cheek, and that was it. Of course Draco would think of using magic first. Harry had to remember that this was how Draco's mind worked--especially since Hermione and Ron had won the legal case to give Malfoy freedom to use his magic again. Draco was looking for any excuse to be magic. 

Harry straightened his robes. Draco was still staring at him, and Harry imagined he wasn't looking his best. On some level, he knew that Draco must find him attractive. Probably. Draco Malfoy  _ probably _ would not be convinced to make out with people that he didn't find attractive. But he'd also pointed out, many times and clearly, that Harry was a mess, and Harry couldn't understand how someone as organized and put-together as Draco Malfoy could find anything other than humor in Harry’s disaster.

"Harry?" Draco repeated, finally shifting from the door frame and walking into the room. "I asked if you realized that you'd missed dinner."

Harry shrugged. It was good to know that there was always food here, mounds of it--warm meats and sweet drinks and complicated buttery pastries, available whenever he wanted them. But it was enough to know they existed. He'd gone months foraging mushrooms and berries with Hermione, and sometimes sitting in the Great Hall with all of the plates filling and re-filling in front of him made his stomach clench. "I'm fine."

Draco rolled his eyes and revealed a pie that he'd been holding behind his back. "Look, if I tell you that I found and shot this pie in the Forbidden Forest, will you eat it?"

A laugh startled out of Harry's throat, and he gestured at the desk. "Sure. Thanks. You can leave it there."

Draco used another flick of his wand to pull a second chair over to the desk, then set the pie to the side and settled into the chair.

"Sorry, did you want to talk about something?" A fist of nerves formed in Harry's gut. 

It had been one week since Hermione had forced Draco and Harry to sit down and “talk to each other,” and they’d skipped that and gone right to snogging. The first two days they'd spent nearly all their time with one another--walking around the lake even though it was raining, nudging each other under the table in the library until they were holding hands, orbiting around each other in the Common Room until they settled into some position which allowed enough contact. 

But that had been the weekend, and it couldn't last. For two people who slept in the same room, Draco and Harry hadn’t seen much of each other since Monday, and Harry knew he was the one who disappeared. He kept telling himself if he just finished preparing the lesson for his next class, he'd be able to spend stress-free time with Draco. It was just that he'd never reached that point. Draco probably had something to say about it. Harry braced himself for the scolding or anger or guilt. 

"I'm going to stay here until you actually eat this," Draco said. "Because otherwise it will just sit there on the end of your desk until it's cold and unpleasant, and I haven't done enough good deeds to waste any of them on you being distracted."

Harry laughed again and snagged the pie. "I don't suppose you want to mark any essays while I eat?"

It was a joke. Draco wasn't responsible for the first years. He'd done so much for them already, and he swept an essay off the pile like it was nothing. 

"You don't actually have to--"

But Draco was already in stitches. "There is a force that walks in the night on paws too soft to hear. Its claws are sharp as swords and teeth as hard as diamonds. You would never know that by the day, this is actually the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Magic," he read. "Potter, why have you got your students writing stories about McGonagall as a cat?"

"It's supposed to be an essay about shapeshifters, with a bit about animagi, and something about werewolves, and for extra credit they can cover shapeshifters from other magical traditions. Please tell me it goes on with something like that."

Draco skimmed the rest of the scroll, and by the time he reached the final inch, his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "I suppose the essay addresses those things in passing, but ninety percent of it is about werewolf rights. I can't imagine you assigning anything other than full marks for this essay."

Harry swallowed the last bite of pie. He'd managed to eat it all, and the sight of the empty plate made Draco look very pleased with himself as he banished the tin. He probably didn't realize the magic that he'd done just by being here and keeping Harry's mind busy while he ate.

"Don't tell me. The author is Sam."

"Got it in one," Draco answered, sliding the scroll to Harry. "Just write an "O" at the top and let's get on with the next reading."

It was so tempting. Most of the students didn't do anything but check the score at the top of their scroll and then stuff it in their bags anyway, and Harry hadn't done anything different when he'd been a student. But he couldn't miss the chance to really see things. "I have to be more careful than that. Read this last paragraph in Lacey's."

He tilted the scroll in front of him towards Draco and waited.

_ I think there must be some kinds of shapeshifting that are good and some that are just bad. Take werewolves. I know that they can be good people because we talked about it, but isn't the shifting still a bad thing? Being able to turn into a cat or a stag, like Headmaster McGonagall and Professor Potter's dad, sounds very cool, but they had to work really hard to be able to change into those things and they still got to choose when they were going to be a person. If Professor Potter's Dad started turning into a stag while he was sleeping in the dorms or holding baby Professor Potter, he probably would not have thought it was a good thing anymore. When you're not in control of the changes, it doesn't feel good. I've been trying to get better at controlling whether I transform, but I would never choose to turn into that thing, It doesn't feel like there's anything good about it. _

"Oh," Draco's voice was hushed. "What are you going to say?"

"That's what I was thinking about when you came to interrupt me with food."

"You mean that's what you fell asleep thinking about." 

Harry pressed his quill to the page again. Even when he had quiet and time to deliberate, he couldn't think of what to write to her. He couldn't leave this unacknowledged--this wasn't some half-hearted homework attempt he could scroll an A on and move on. But where was the room in grading papers to tell her that he was grateful that she'd shared, that she was being so brave and had already done such an incredible job facing down the Obscurial that was trying to become her? What was the grade for "You didn't quite cover all the requirements, but you did make me think of something I've never thought about before?"

He couldn't remember ever getting notes like that on his essays for classes. But then, he'd never written anything this honest.

"Harry," Draco snapped, and Harry blinked. He'd been pressing his pen against the scroll, and a black puddle of ink was spreading. "Give that to me." Draco swished his wand and vanished the ink puddle, then took the quill from Harry and started to write, in handwriting that actually looked like it could belong to a professor and not Harry's untidy scrawl.

_ Miss Ketteridge, _

_ An Excellent essay, missing Outstanding only because of a lack of multiple signs to use for recognizing animal shapeshifters. Thank you for your honest thoughts about shape-shifting. I have never considered how choice fits into this, and I will certainly be thinking more about it. You've worked very hard at taking care of your human form, and we're all very proud of you. _

"There." Draco looked up. "How's that?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You didn't look into my head, did you?" He was trying to learn Occlumency along with the first years, but he hadn't yet let Draco poke at his defenses to see if they worked, so he had no idea if he was getting any better at it.

Draco's mouth pulled into a straight line. "I didn't have to use Legilimancy, Potter."

Harry had a feeling that he'd said something wrong, but what Draco wrote had been so exactly what he'd been thinking.

Draco was silent for a moment. "Harry. Let's go for a walk. You should get outside for a little bit. I'll help you mark some more of these before bed."

That was supposed to sound good. What was wrong with Harry? It should sound perfect to sneak out of the castle with Draco just before sunset and clear his mind, but Harry felt a sharp tug of resistance. There were so many people outside this room. So many eyes, so many voices. "Let me finish up with these. I'll feel better going for a walk after I'm done for the night."

Draco's eyebrows arched, and Harry was reminded sharply of a much younger Draco when he wasn't getting his way. Apparently this was exactly what Draco was going for, because he leaned forward and said. "You're trying to put me off, and I want to go on a walk with my boyfriend  _ now, _ because it looks nice outside and I want to snog you by that tree where I used to hide while I waited for you to walk by so I could toss things in your hair and taunt you."

"You tossed things in my hair?" 

Draco closed his eyes, as if overcome. "I should have realized you would never notice that I was putting more of a mess in your hair."

Harry laughed yet again. How Draco Malfoy, the person that he'd always thought of as so sour and sad, could be the person to surprise laughter out of Harry more than anyone else--well, anyone other than the first-year students--it was one of Harry's favorite mysteries.

"Fine," Harry fake-grumbled. "But you're definitely going to have to help me mark these this weekend. I don't want to have to explain to the first years why all their essays are so late."

Draco waved away Harry's concern. "Oh, one of them will see us out the windows and tell everyone else by the time class rolls around Monday. They'll be shocked if you do get them done. Come on."

Lacking the energy to go on arguing--and because the sunlight slanting through the windows looked enchanted even by Hogwarts standards, Harry agreed. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody knows better than to ask the "What are you doing after graduation?" question. Come on, Harry.

There were so many best things about being with Draco Malfoy. There were also a healthy handful of things that were driving Harry crazy, but he'd known all along that Draco would drive him crazy.

Harry's favorite thing was watching Draco's face when he realized that Harry was in the room. There was always a second of his habitual blankness or irritation before Draco realized that it was okay to be happy. His favorite thing was that they had both always been magnets, but now they were finally both pointing the right direction, so they could fit together instead of spinning around and around and around each other. His favorite thing was that when he looked at the Marauder's map, it was always Draco's dot he found first, almost without having to try. Like he had trained himself to do this a long time ago, as practice. His favorite was that Draco, who had never seemed to care about him at all, somehow knew how to do the right thing to make his brain stop running through the old, familiar tracks of all the mistakes that he'd made.

"Harry," Draco said, poking him hard in the side. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking whatever you're thinking." He paused, as if listening to what he'd just said. "I never thought I'd see the day I had to tell you to think less." 

The boys stepped through the door into the eighth year dormitory. Harry's stomach didn’t squeeze when he stepped into the renovated Room of Requirement where the eighth years stayed anymore. Usually. 

"Oi. Harry, Malfoy. Have a look at this." Seamus Finnegan flourished a scroll in their faces, and Harry tried to make sense of the text. 

_ All Seventh and Eighth year students will schedule a meeting with their Heads of Houses regarding their career choices and upcoming exams. Please sign up for a time availability and arrive promptly at the scheduled times. _

The Common Room was unusually packed with eighth year students. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws clustered around their sign-ups, but the Slytherin’s corner was deserted.The few students who had to sign up darted in and out of the corner without lingering. 

Seamus grinned. "It feels like a bit of a joke at this point, doesn't it? What's McGonagall going to do, scold me about not cramming enough?" He turned around and signed up on the last available slot. "That'll give the guilt less time to work." 

And McGonagall would be too worn out to do a proper job of scolding Seamus by that point. She was only Head of House because there was no one else to take over the job this year, and those responsibilities were the least of her worries. It meant that the Head Boy and Girl had rather a lot of responsibility on their shoulders, according to Ginny.

Dean took the pen from Seamus and left his splotchy signature on the page. "I'm not fussed about the exams. I just want a t-shirt that says I survived Hogwarts. That should be enough to get me a job anywhere."

Ron took the pen next. "What are we going to talk about, we've already--"

Hermione elbowed Ron. "Just sign up," she told him. "And stop boasting about how we've been offered positions at the Ministry."

Waiting for his turn with the sign-up-sheet, Harry glanced across the room to see Draco worrying the quill between his fingers, looking at the handful of times available as if choosing the wrong time to meet with Slughorn would seal his fate. The career counseling was a joke to the Gryffindors. It was a joke to anyone who’d been a war hero. Draco wasn’t laughing. 

Harry wondered, for a moment, if he could find a way to go over there and make sure that Draco was okay without making it too obvious. But no. He didn’t have to pretend to have an ulterior motive every time he wanted to make sure Draco was okay. That was part of his job, now. 

He took a few steps, and Draco’s glare darted over to Harry, then back to the list in front of him. Harry faltered.  _ Was _ this his job? Was that a signal that Draco didn't want to hear from the Golden Boy right now?

"Get it over with, Potter."

And, stupidly, this made Harry bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Maybe it should hurt his feelings when Draco got testy and called him Potter, but it didn't. It just made their thing seem real. "Get what over with?"

"The part where you try to cheer me up and tell me that everything is going to be okay, because of the sunshine and the butterflies and whatever else you can think of at the minute."

Harry tried to keep his expression serious, but it was difficult. "Alright, here's my silly attempt at cheering you up. Let's get out of the common room and go for a walk. There's this tree where this one git used to wait for me to walk by and throw things in my hair, but recently I've found it a pretty good spot for--uh, other types of things."

Draco looked at him seriously. "You can't just use my exact moves against me."

"Can. And always have." He waited until the offer had worked and they were nearly outside before he turned to Draco and said. "But also maybe we should talk about the career thing."

Draco's expression darkened. "You lured me out here with promises of snogging, and now you're going to talk to me about my future."

"I didn't say snogging. I said other activities. That can involve career counseling."

"You're sick. Also, you're not my professor anymore, remember?"

No. Of course not, and Harry had always felt like it was too odd trying to be Draco's teacher. 

"I hate Slughorn," Draco muttered. They were out the door now, but still Draco turned and looked around him like Slughorn might be right behind them, ready to catch him out.

"Because he has Snape's job?" Harry ventured.

Draco looked at him sideways. "No, not because he has Professor Snape's job. Snape didn't even want that job, and why do you always think everything's about him?"

Harry resisted the urge to snap back at Draco. Draco couldn't just say he was wrong, he had to make Harry feel like an idiot for trying to understand. "Fine. Please explain."

Draco’s pace sped up. Harry was no stranger to hurrying, but Draco had longer legs. It was easier to keep up with him on a broom. He almost missed it when Draco, facing forward, muttered, "It never feels like Slughorn sees me."

Harry waited for Draco to say more, but he just kept taking his long-legged strides toward their tree. 

Slughorn had always made Harry feel too-seen, and not for the right reasons. As though whenever the Potions professor looked at him, dollar signs appeared in his eyes. It had made Slughorn an easy person to manipulate, both for Harry and Tom Riddle, years ago. But not being seen made Draco miserable. 

"He's a fool," Harry said, running a few steps to catch up with Draco. "If he doesn't see you, he's a fool."

"He's not, though." Draco swallowed, and Harry watched his throat work through the motion of it. "Ask him to pick the people who matter out of a Hogwarts class, and he'll always do it. The people in his Slug Club--you know the kinds of things they went on to do. I'm sure he's told you all about it. And he picked you and Hermione and Ginny. He knows who's worth it at Hogwarts."

"You're as bad as Ron," Harry said. That definitely got Draco's attention. He stopped short and spun towards Harry, ready to fight. Harry thought Ron and Draco were properly friends now, but Draco still had some deep-down instinct to fight back when compared with Ron. "I mean that we see the value in Ron. Slughorn doesn't, because he's an old bat who looks for one kind of important. You are important."

"Not to the person who's going to help me sort out what career I dare go for when I take my NEWTS." Draco spun back around and continued toward the tree, intentionally relaxing his fists and stretching his fingers out straight. "And not to any of the people who are handing out jobs to eighth-years. Not even the ones who've already offered Ron a job."

"What about me?" Harry growled. He hated how selfish and pleading it sounded coming from his mouth, but he couldn't unsay it. Besides, it was exactly what he meant. "You care about fame and being important. So, how come my opinion doesn't matter? Don't you think I could get you a job? Don't you think I can make sure things work out for you?"

That got Draco to stop again. They'd almost reached the tree, and Harry looked at it longingly. He wanted to tug Draco under its branches. Harry would lean against the trunk of the tree and pull Draco down to lean against him, because otherwise Draco would complain about getting sap on his robes. They'd be quiet for a few minutes until Harry spent too long looking at Draco's lips and remembered how much better he liked when they were against his instead of frowning and complaining, and--

"I can't depend on your fame, Potter.” Draco’s voice tumbled out like lead weights. "It's nice. That you're offering to help. But I've got to figure out a plan for my whole life, and you're--"

He stopped talking, like the git and drama queen that he was. "I'm what?" Harry pressed. Temporary? Undependable? "Just what are you trying to say?" He'd gone into this whole stupid thing trying to cheer Draco up. He'd meant to help Draco see that things weren't nearly as bleak as he thought they were, and that together, they could figure any of this out. Maybe he should have just said that. Because now he was beginning to think they were pretty bleak. Draco wasn't counting on Harry being around in the future, when he needed things, and maybe that was for the best. He shouldn't try to convince Draco to count on him when he couldn't make any promises about the future himself.

And now the stupid image in his mind about the two of them sitting and having some peace under the tree felt too naive. What made him think the two of them could have that? He still wanted to reach for it, but Draco was already turning around. "Look, Harry. I think I need to study. I'll talk to you--I'll see you--" He didn't finish his sentence. Why couldn't Draco ever finish anything he was saying? Didn’t he know that when he left things unsaid, Harry's always filled in the worst ending possible?

***

They didn’t talk that night. Draco had been sitting at his own desk, up to his elbows in school books, when Harry had come in late that evening and started getting ready for bed. He wondered again if he had a good excuse to approach Draco, but this time the answer didn't feel as clear. Maybe that was his job, but maybe, also, he was terrible at it. He needed to take a seminar course about cheering up Draco Malfoy.

Neville didn’t have the same conflict. He entered the room, strode right over to Draco's desk, and carried on a soft conversation. Harry caught a few words, including his name. He tried to ignore them, climbing into his bed and pulling the covers tight across his chest. So what if Neville was better at having calm conversations with Draco? So what if Neville didn't need remedial lessons in cheering Draco up? That didn't mean anything. It would just look stupid now, if he also tried to participate in the conversation, and besides, he had the first-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs first thing in the morning, and he needed his sleep.

***

Harry had nightmares. He knew he couldn't be the only one, but it felt like it. Nobody else seemed to wake up mid-scream at one in the morning. He was the only one who couldn't get his fingers to unlock for five minutes after he woke up, the one who couldn't always tell if he was awake or still dreaming.

What had this dream even been? There had been a broomstick and a shock of blonde hair, but it hadn't been the white blonde of Draco's hair.

"Really, Potter?" Draco drawled.

Harry's breaths relaxed. This was real. Draco's voice was an anchor. This was real. Even if Draco didn't want anything to do with him after earlier, he was still here, and alive. They were both breathing.

"Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep.”

"That's not what bothers me.” Draco’s voice was so light and flippant that Harry knew it was an effort. "I just want to be the only handsome Quidditch player you're calling out for in your sleep."

Oh. Harry's chest felt like there were weights resting on it now, crushing out his breath. That was it. The dream, the flash of green. "Cedric."

Draco's lips pressed together. Harry knew it wasn't really jealousy, but that was easier than the gnawing emptiness. "I didn't know you still thought about him."

Harry made a muffled sound. He wasn't sure if it sounded more like a laugh or the only bit of a scream he would let out, but Draco sank down so he was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. It was awkward. Harry wanted to scoot over to make room for him to at least sit side-by-side, but if he scooted over, would Draco think he was scooting away?

"There really isn't anything to say, is there?" Draco said. "I keep trying to think of something useful, but Cedric's gone."

Harry thought about that night in the cemetery. "It was such a long time ago. If there's anybody that shouldn't keep haunting me--" But Cedric wasn't haunting him. He hadn't become a ghost--Cedric had chosen to go on.

"And now you're crying," Draco observed. "So I definitely said the wrong thing." He shifted so that he was facing more towards Harry and put one of his arms out. It hung there in space for a long moment like Draco wasn't sure what he was going to do with it, and then he put it on Harry's hair and grabbed a handful. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make Harry feel like he was being held in place.

"I wish we weren't both such utter disasters," Draco said. "I wish it wasn't the only way we knew how to be. If I let go of your hair, will you shove over?"

The beds at Hogwarts weren't intended for multiple occupants, but Harry managed to wriggle over far enough for Draco to prop his narrow legs on the bed next to Harry. "Don't get any ideas," Draco murmured, shifting around to find a comfortable position. "I'm just here so I don't have to get out of bed if you wake up hollering again."

Harry already  _ had _ ideas, ideas he wished Draco shared. But Draco was here, bony and sharp-tongued and taking up space, and it was easy to fall asleep after that. 


	3. Chapter Three

"Get the popcorn!” Devon Hariot chanted. "Professor Potter's getting mad."

Harry sucked in a deep breath. If he'd slept better the previous night--if he'd had time to get a cup of tea in himself before class started--if he'd done anything right, maybe he wouldn't be clutching his wand, ready to scream at the eleven year old who had just cast a spell to make Ravi O’Brien feel like he had ants climbing all over him.

"I won't have bullying in my class," Harry said. He wished he could achieve that dangerous quiet that Dumbledore used to, or the soft-spoken authority of Remus.

Hariot smirked. "Come on. It was a joke. Right, Ravi?"

Ravi looked ready to spit, but he lowered his eyes. "Yes, Professor. It was just a joke."

Potter forced himself to let go of his wand and let it rest on his desk. He didn't need to fight these kids. He needed to talk to them. "I can tell when someone's being forced to--"

"Um, Professor?" Lacey's hand was in the air. "Did you mark our essays? Can we have them back?"

Harry's shoulders relaxed, and he shot another look toward the door. Malfoy wasn't here yet, which had left him scrambling at the beginning of class and given Devon enough time to experiment on Ravi.

Harry handed out the parchments, taking a few seconds to check in with some of the students about their work. "Fine ideas about the nature of shapeshifters, Mister Cattermole. Thanks for sharing what you did, Miss Ketteridge." 

Devon Hariot and his two best friends had gotten out of their seat at some point when Harry wasn't watching, and now they were winding through the rows of desks, working their way closer to Ravi. Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn't the kind of behavior he expected from Gryffindors, but every time he'd mentioned that to Devon, he'd only gotten a smirk in response. Devon didn't seem to care when Harry took house points from Gryffindor for his behavior, and the one time Harry had given Devon a detention, Devon had made sure it was more of a misery for Harry than it was for him. He was out of ideas that didn't involve dropping Devon in the middle of the Forbidden Forest and hoping he came back with more sense. 

The door swung open, and there was Draco. Thank Merlin. Harry had run out of ideas and patience. 

"Professor Malfoy!" Devon crowed. "You're late!"

Draco turned slowly on the loud-mouthed student, ice dripping from his voice. "Thank you for that observation. Please take your seat. Since our time is shorter than usual, let's not waste any."

Devon was in his seat in a blink, and so were all his friends. Even Sam, who'd given Malfoy such a hard time for the first few months that he'd come to help with the class, was silent and attentive now. How had Draco won them all over, while Harry had lost the little control he'd once had over the class?

"Potter, please lead the class in a thought scan." Draco strode purposefully to a pair of desks that he'd set up in the back of the room for one-on-one Occlumency work. "Mr. Hariot, I will see you in the back." The smug grin on Devon's face faltered. 

Harry looked out at the expectant faces of all the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who wanted to practice their Occlumency. Merlin, why was this his  _ hard  _ class? He sucked in a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "Everybody get comfortable in your seats or on the floor. If you want to grab a cushion, you can."

There was a mad rush for the cushions, and Harry realized a moment too late he should have let one row go at a time so they wouldn't be pushing each other to get the "cool" cushions. Why did he never think of these things before his students were throwing elbows? Draco raised an eyebrow, and what Harry hated most was that Draco was here to see him making such a mess of things, again.

*** *** ***

Draco and Harry turned out to have their career counseling at the same time. 

"I didn't do it on purpose," Draco grouched. “I didn’t even know when your meeting was.”

"Don’t lie," Harry said. “You changed your time after you saw mine so we could walk there together and I could cheer you up afterward." There was a weird bubble of nerves starting to writhe around in his own stomach, and it was easy to funnel that energy at Draco. He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that he hoped was suggestive.

"What's wrong with your face?" Draco asked, and Harry stopped. "Also, if you think I'm going to be in the mood for--hijinks after meeting with Slughorn, there's no way. Please just don't threaten Professor McGonagall, and I'll attempt to get through a whole meeting with someone who can’t remember my name."

Harry rolled his eyes and bumped against Draco's shoulder, giving him a little shove toward Slughorn's office. "Good luck."

And then Draco was gone, and there was no one to tease and poke at. Harry was left alone with the questions in his own brain and the weight of all the years ahead of him. He knocked on McGonagall's door.

"Come in, Potter. You're on time."

Harry had been on time for most of his meetings with McGonagall this year. And most of the transfiguration classes, too. But McGonagall had a knack for making him feel like the fourth year running into the classroom at the last minute after getting up to something in the hallway.

"Take a seat."

She pushed a small pile of parchments across the desk toward him. Her desk was even more scattered than it had been last time Harry was in here, and he found his eyes lingering on the stack of owl mail in the corner.

"Potter," McGonagall's voice was sharp. "Unless you see something in my mail which pertains to your career decisions, I believe we're here to talk about your future and not the state of my desk."

Potter let out a breath. He'd known this meeting would be full of heavy words like career and decision and future, but they were still spinning into him so hard. 

"We're both aware that you've had an offer from Robards to work in the Auror department at the Ministry, which was your ambition when we met during your fifth year. And Minister Shacklebolt has made no secret that you need only name the position you want in the Ministry, and it will be yours."

Harry nodded. "Too bad the Cannons didn't throw their names into the hat." It was easier than telling her that he did trust Kingsley, but that didn't mean he trusted the Ministry. He didn't have any ideas of a job that he'd be better at, but wearing the Auror robes wasn’t a fantasy anymore, and he wasn’t sure what he thought about the reality.

McGonagall frowned. "Don't joke about that, Potter. I'd never watch you throw your talent away for a team as abysmal as the Chudley Cannons."

The serious ring of her voice made Harry laugh.

"Frankly, Potter, you've less to worry about than anyone. They'll take your NEWTS, of course, and it will help them cross their t's and dot their i's if you do well enough."

Maybe it was meant to set him at ease, but it didn't sound right, coming from McGonagall. She was supposed to say something that would make him try harder. 

"Potter,I have to say...I have to ask. I know you have other offers on the table from people who can offer you galleons and influence that I can't. But there's another offer on the table."

Harry felt his heart speed up, but he forced himself to joke, "Not Puddlemere United?"

McGonagall sniffed. "No. Harry. I want to offer you a position here, as a professor at Hogwarts."

Some part of Harry had been both expecting and fearing this ever since she'd talked him into teaching the first years at the beginning of the year, but the protests were still the first words out of his mouth. "I can't be a professor. Won't people complain that I'm too young?"

McGonagall pressed her fingers together, and again Harry was struck by how deep the lines in her face were. "Potter. I have five positions I'm trying to fill. We didn't even offer Muggle Studies classes this year, and we both know where we end up when Wizards and Witches don't understand Muggles. This year I've been Professor of Transfiguration, Headmaster, and Gryffindor Head of House. Professor Slughorn has submitted his resignation to me fourteen different times this year, and every time I have managed to talk him into a few more weeks of instruction. Professor Hagrid never made it past his third year of education. We have been literally filling faculty spots with people who don't have a heartbeat for years. Your age is the least of my concerns."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Of course there had always been the drama of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position being cursed, and Dumbledore had brought some rather unusual people in to staff, but Harry had always thought that was a mark more of Dumbledore's eccentricity than a lack of choices. Maybe part of Dumbledore's magic had always been creating the illusion of choice when faced with scarcity. 

"What you're saying is that you're so desperate that you'd take me on." Harry meant for it to sound like a joke, but he already knew that it didn't.

McGonagall leaned forward in her chair. "What I'm saying is that I've seen the effect you've had on your students, Potter. Not just the first years, but everyone you've influenced. I'm desperate enough to throw my name in against Shacklebolt and Robards even though I know you've wanted to be an Auror since fourth year. I can't offer you what they can. I can offer you the same amount--maybe more, of late nights and stress. I can offer you running your own detentions and students crying in your office, and all for a quarter of the pay. You've got a difficult choice ahead of you."

Harry thought of what she was actually offering. He would have his first years again. The ones that wrote real things in their homework. The ones that he had taught to cast Patronuses. The ones that had gotten over their awe of them and now could never manage to close their mouths while he was talking.

And if he was going to leave them, he would have to choose that. On purpose. He'd have to say no.

"I imagine I've given you enough to think about for today," McGonagall interrupted. "And I have an appointment with Mr. Thomas at this time. Good day, Potter."

He still had several questions bubbling inside him. Who else was McGonagall going to recruit for the open positions? Would there be other eighth years? Did she know--had McGonagall ever known that that's what Tom Riddle asked for when he left Hogwarts? Harry's heart lurched at the idea of being able to stay here, in this only home he knew, instead of going out into the world and messing everything up out there.

He stood up, and his eyes lingered on McGonagall. He'd known she was busy, but he had never realized, somehow, exactly how much she was carrying on her shoulders. "You should have a biscuit, Headmistress."

*** *** ***

He walked out of her office and nearly collided with Draco, who was doing his casual-leaning-against-the-wall thing. It was stupid to be attracted to the way Draco leaned, but here they were. 

Harry checked Draco's face, but it was carefully blank. "How did your meeting go?"

"Before or after Slughorn remembered that I was a Death Eater?"

"He can't have really forgotten who you are?"

Draco shrugged. "He spent a long time looking through my OWLS scores and muttering about how I showed early promise in potions. Suggested I find an apothecary to apprentice with."

"That's not so bad," Harry said. "You'd be a brilliant apothecary."

Draco's jaw twitched, which probably meant that Harry had said the wrong thing, but Draco was so worried about having a career, and he would be brilliant at the fine finicky details of making cures. He could help people. And maybe it was just Harry, layering his own thoughts onto Draco's, but it always felt like Draco was searching for some way to make up for the harm he'd caused.

"Yes. I'll send some owls later this week and see if anyone's taking apprentices." Draco's voice was still tight, but at least they weren't fighting. "Any surprises in your chat with the Headmistress?

"She offered me a faculty position. Here."

"I asked if there were  _ surprises _ ," Draco repeated. 

"I didn't know she was going to offer me a job!" But Draco and Harry had already spoken, at Christmas, about whether Harry would want to go on being a professor. It wasn’t truly fair to call it a surprise. 

"What did you tell her?"

"I think I just gaped at her for a bit, and she dismissed me so she could meet with Dean. I didn't know what to say. She--I didn't realize how much she would mean it. I didn't think about how desperate Hogwarts is for professors."

Draco shrugged. "You're going to have to decide where you want to be. Everybody wants a piece of you."

Harry smirked, and Draco realized what he said enough to go pink around the ears. "Is that so, Draco? Everybody?" This could go all wrong. Draco could snap back that Harry wasn't taking any of this seriously, and they could end up in a row.

But he didn't, not this time. Draco reached out, slipped a hand into Harry's and tugged him on, hopefully to some sunset-watching spot where they'd have relative privacy. "Mmm, yes. Everybody wants a piece, and most of them don't even know what they're missing."

*** *** ***

Harry didn't know if Draco was sending owls to inquire about apprenticeships like he'd promised he would do, because Harry was hiding in the Defense classroom again, staring at the pile of quizzes he was supposed to mark. Just do the first one, he told himself. Do them one by one.

But he was staring at the top page of the document and his mind was moving in too-tight circles, buzzing like there was something wrong. Like he was missing something important, and if he didn't figure it out, someone he loved was going to be hurt. His thoughts ran through person after person. Ron? Hermione? They had Hagrid's new trial in two days. The two of them had been in top form, running over their arguments and rehearsing with Hagrid.

Hagrid? No. He shouldn't be in any danger. Surely one of the five positions McGonagall was trying to fill wasn't his, especially if he was up to have his use of magic reinstated.

Draco? The patterns in his mind were so used to looking at Draco as a threat. Was he doing something that was setting Harry on edge? Or was he in danger? Panicking about careers, brushing off the conversation with Slughorn?

One of his students? Was this about Ravi and Devon? Had he ever really dealt with Devon's games? No. And he'd seen how people turned out when they were bullies at Hogwarts. And when they were bullied at Hogwarts. That  _ should  _ be on his mind. 

But there was something else wrong, something that should be obvious. He was missing something, and by the time he figured it out, he would be too late. 

"Professor Potter?"

He froze and looked to the door. Lacey was standing there, her pale eyes wide in her pale face.

"Hello Lacey. You're early. Is everything alright?"

"I'm okay," she said, "But you look bad."

Harry chuckled. He'd had plenty of chances to wander in and see his teachers not looking their best over his years at Hogwarts, but he didn't think he'd ever been so gutsy as to tell one of them that they looked bad.

"I mean, you look like you're having bad thoughts.."

Harry realized that his left hand was gripping a fistful of his hair and forced himself to release it.

"Have you been practicing with your bad thoughts?" Harry asked, striving to keep his voice calm. Maybe whatever subtle clue he'd picked up on had been something about Lacey, and this was his chance to make sure she was alright.

She nodded. "You know how I told you that Madame Pomfrey set up meetings for me to talk with somebody at St. Mungos about my bad thoughts and the uh--the times that I get wibbly? Last week I got a letter from home and I started to go sort of spinny and I went straight up to the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey let me use the fire to floo my mind-healer. I wish I could handle it all on my own, but I think it helped me hold out for longer, knowing that I just had to walk up to the hospital wing and there would be somebody to help me there."

Harry smiled. "That's great, Lacey. I hope you're starting to feel like you have more control over--"

"I am," she interrupted. "But what I mean to say is, Mr. Potter, I think you should go talk to Madame Pomfrey and see if there's a mind-healer who can talk with you."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to respond with any of the dozen excuses that he'd used when the same thing had been suggested by everyone else, but how could he say any of those things to Lacey? It was a good thing that she was going to see a mind healer. It would make an enormous difference for her. It might be saving her life. 

He couldn't just say, "That's fine for you, but it's not the same for me. I don't turn into a murderous ball of smoke when I have bad thoughts." He couldn't look this first year in the eyes and tell her that he was too busy for something like that, or that he hadn't had it so bad and he'd just leave the mild healers for the people who had actual problems.

"Thanks. Maybe I'll do that."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't mean maybe. I mean you should do it."

Harry leaned back in his chair to look at Lacey more carefully. He'd made a mistake, early on. He'd looked at her pale scrawniness and how washed-out she'd seemed, and he'd seen weakness. He of all people should have known that to grow up in a place that doesn't want you takes strength.

"I can't go now," he said. "Class is going to start soon."

"You've got time," she said. "I'm very early. And we can hold off getting our quizzes back for another day. I promise, I won't even mention them."

Harry laughed, and, because she was still staring at him, her pale blue eyes following his every move without blinking, he stood up and walked out the door of the Defense classroom. Maybe this was just a plot to get her some time alone in the classroom to--to what? She was right. Harry was so used to looking for a plot in everything that his mind had gone Mad-Eye Moody on him. It couldn't hurt to talk to Madame Pomfrey.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's like... 90% about Hagrid, who deserved better things.

A part of his mind was still turning over his conversation with Pomfrey all through his lesson with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but he managed to keep them on track until the last few minutes of class, when one of the students raised his hand. "Professor Potter, how come we don't get to pick elective classes for next year?" 

Harry frowned. "That's always been at the end of second year."

"I can't wait to take Care of Magical Creatures," Sam said. "All the third and fourth years say that Hagrid's their favorite teacher."

Harry felt a jolt of shock. He'd always maintained, at least out loud, that Hagrid was brilliant. But his experiences hadn't always matched up. And he had certainly never been in the majority. 

"I figure part of it is because you get to have the whole class outside so much," one of the Hufflepuff girls said. "That's more fun than sitting in a classroom for lectures. No offense, Sir."

Harry shrugged, still trying to do the math of Hagrid’s popularity.

"The other part of it is that Hagrid just knows more than anyone else," Sam insisted. "I was talking to Brenda Spinnet, and she said he knows so many animals that he's got a new clever thing to teach them about nearly every week."

"Plus the funny stories," Lacey said, grinning. "I know we haven't got him as a professor yet, but he tells the funniest stories about his first years of teaching."

Harry couldn't place his feelings. Hagrid had always been a bit of a bungler. He was used to being the only one defending Hagrid, but now he was gaping like he couldn’t believe Hagrid was everyone's favorite. He couldn't seem to get his face to do normal expressions. 

He dismissed the class, and Sam hesitated on their way out the door. "Don’t worry, Professor Potter. All the first years told the third years there's no way Hagrid's cooler than you."

***

Harry had meant to visit Hagrid for a long time. He knew that Ron and Hermione were at his hut once or twice a week, discussing the trial, but Harry always seemed to catch them when they were coming back. But this was the eve of Hagrid's trial, and Hermione and Ron lit up when Harry suggested that he might tag along to Hagrid's for the evening to help them run over things one more time. Hagrid had set the table for himself and two guests, and although he was quick to set out another teacup and saucer, Harry felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't done anything to help Hermione and Ron prepare, even after all Hagrid had done. He'd hardly even talked to Hagrid this year. 

Hagrid just seemed thrilled that Harry was there, and he gave him a pat on the back that nearly sent Harry over the end of the table. "Y’er coming tomorrow, aren't you, 'arry? Won't matter to them nearly so much what's 'appened in the past if they've got you there reminding them of what good I've done."

"I'll be there,” Harry promised. "I wish I could have been more helpful."

"Oh, Ron and 'ermione have this all sorted. I know that all three o' you've got loads of jobs after you for next year, but I wouldn't be surprised if people are after the two of them for legal representation. Should have seen them up there when they were arguing for the Malfoy boy and Parkinson. Never thought the Wizengamot would go for it, but they talked 'em down."

Hermione looked very pleased, but she waved away the compliment all the same. "The argument makes itself. You can't take magic away from wizards. It's part of who we are."

"Speaking of who's got jobs ahead of them, 'arry, I heard McGonagall made you an offer, too?"

Hermione and Ron looked to Harry, waiting for an explanation. Harry should have told them about this, even if neither of them had asked how his meeting with McGonagall went. It wasn’t as though he’d asked them, either.

During the summer, when everything had seemed hypothetical, the three of them had talked about what they might do next year. They’d weighed whether they should all go in together or if it would be better to spread out their skills. Now that real decisions had to be made, Harry felt stranger and stranger suggesting that Hermione and Ron needed to factor Harry into their decisions. They all had to figure out the best path they could, and there was no reason that the two of them should be trapped in Harry's messes any longer.

“Uh, right. I've been meaning to talk with all three of you about that. She suggested I stay on as a full-time professor, but I don't know."

Ron's eyes went wide. "You mean you're considering it? I thought it was driving you mental."

Harry laughed. "I think it is driving me mental, but--" 

But what? But Hogwarts was his home? But he was afraid that if he went anywhere else, he wouldn't seem so spectacular anymore? But he was afraid that if he left, the new Defense teacher would be evil?

"Harry, that's wonderful!" Hermione said. Her smile looked a strained, but maybe she meant it. "You would be able to do so much good here."

Hagrid cleared his throat and swiped his thumbs under his eyes. "Might be my proudest moment yet, seeing one of my own students thinkin' about becoming a teacher. ‘Specially since I didn't get to teach you when I was at my best. Shacklebolt and Robards would be real lucky to have you join on with them, but I know the professors would all be proud as anything to have you with us."

"But Hagrid," Harry said, spreading his hands helplessly, "I'm not even a good student. Even now that Voldemort's really out of the picture, I finish all my things last minute."

He could see them all preparing to argue with him, so he rushed on. "Besides, I don't know what I'm doing, and I can barely keep up with two classes of first years. How am I supposed to teach all seven years? Defense is important. It has to be done right."

He could feel the steel-hard conviction starting to rise in him, and he could sense the shift. They were listening to him now, not like he was Harry, their friend who they were always at least a little worried about, but like he was Harry Potter, the boy whose voice magically mattered more than anyone else's.

"On the other hand, nobody--almost nobody--has been doing it right for so long. Where’s McGonagall going to find somebody else? Who’s going to do this if I don’t?"

Hermione cast a guilty look to Ron, who opened his mouth and said, "Look, mate, if this is what you want, then of course we're really happy for you."

And Hermione beamed at Ron for thinking of the right thing to say, and then turned her smile on Harry, waiting for him to respond. 

Harry forced a smile. The happiness would come. 

***

Draco flicked his wand again, and his robes shivered and settled. 

"What are you doing?" Harry had picked out a decent set of robes for the trial, but he hadn't done whatever Draco was so fixated on, and he looked fine.

"I'm trying to get the wrinkles out," Draco frowned. "Everyone's going to be staring at me, trying to figure out what I've made of myself since they gave me back the use of my magic. I want them to see I'm making good use of it."

"To make yourself prettier? Is that what you think they're looking for?"

Draco pointed the wand at his hair and swept it gently across his forehead. "Don't be daft, Potter. People decide from a glance what role you're playing, and I'm trying to play the misunderstood, reformed schoolboy. So I have to look neat."

Harry stood next to Draco, crowding him a bit out of his mirror and smirking at the pout on Draco's face. "If that's the misunderstood reformed schoolboy look, what is this?"

"I can't tell if you're going for mad professor or if you want the state of your hair to detract from Hagrid's usual grooming habits, but either way, you're doing a magnificent job."

Harry elbowed Draco in the side, and Draco laughed. Something about catching the laugh in the mirror stopped him short, and he stood staring at their reflections with a suddenly somber look on his face. “Are you sure Pansy and I should come to this? Hagrid showing up for me and Pansy made us look more innocent. Us coming to Hagrid's trial is going to make him look like he hangs around with the wrong sort."

Even though Draco was serious, Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing. "You prat. I know you’re just trying to get me to say that we can figure out who the wrong sort are for ourselves. Hermione said you should come, and Hermione's the one with the master plan. Besides, she and Ron will be really mad at you if you skive off now, and I know you don't want that."

"I can't imagine anything worse," Draco shuddered. "Off we go, I suppose."

***

Hagrid was nervous; Harry could tell from the saturation of his handkerchief. Harry took Hagrid’s arm to Apparate, since Hagrid had never learned, and tried to pass some confidence into Hagrid with his grip. 

When they’d reappeared in front of the Ministry, Hagrid released Harry’s arm and scuffed his shoe on the cobblestone. "'arry. Been meaning to ask you. Supposing they do give me the rights to use a proper wand and learn magic again. Well, if it wouldn’t be too much bother, do ye think you could teach me how to cast a good strong patronus like you've got the students doing? Might not work, me being so much older and so out of practice with magic and all that, but I thought it might come in handy."

Harry had never forgotten how Hagrid had been sent to Azkaban during their second year. It must be in Hagrid's mind every time he thought about standing in front of the court. Even if Hagrid didn't stand to lose anything this time, the memories of dementors were in some ways as powerful as the dementors themselves.

"Of course, Hagrid. And you're definitely going to get your magic back. They'd be fools to turn you down."

"And twice fools if they get themselves on the wrong side of ‘ermione and Ron,” Hagrid laughed. There was a crack in the air next to them, and Hagrid turned with a wide smile. "Speaking of, here they are."

Hermione straightened her robes. "Ron, you've still got all the notes? Perfect. You look very nice, Hagrid, stop fiddling with your hair. All you need to do is stay calm and say what you mean to say. Just imagine that you're talking to Ron and Harry and me, alright?"

Hagrid nodded, and they walked into the Ministry building.

Harry had come here since the war. He'd attended some trials just to see what had happened. Others he'd been asked to testify at. But this time, approaching the courtroom, Harry was reminded of watching Dumbledore's memories of trials in the Pensieve. When he'd caught Harry at it, Dumbledore had told him how full his mind was with all of these memories and thoughts, how confusing they all became, one on top of another.

At the time, Harry hadn't been able to relate. Looking at the building now, Harry wished that he was only attending Hagrid's trial instead of all of the other trials playing through his memory.

"Come on, you two," Pansy called. "We've got regular old spectator seats this time. Let's get seated so they all have something to stare at while they're waiting."

Harry tried to whisper to Draco a few times as the court proceedings began, but Draco got a quill out of his robes and wrote a very terse note:  _ Stop whispering with me, Potter, I don't want the Wizengamot to think I'm not taking this seriously. _

Harry winced and tried to focus on something else, like the stern faces of the Wizengamot and which ones might still vote against Hagrid, just because he was a half giant and they didn't trust him with magic.

And then the paper that Draco had written his urgent note on before bumped against Harry's hand.

_ I didn't mean you couldn't write notes to me, you git. I just meant try to be a bit subtle and not make so much noise that we all get thrown out. _

Under that was a picture of Harry riding on his broomstick, being struck by lightning, and Draco on the broomstick behind, laughing uproariously. A reprise of younger Draco's art. He'd gotten better. 

_ Is that supposed to be me? _ Harry wrote, drawing an arrow to the figure on the broom, in case there was any confusion.

_ Of course that's you. Can't you tell because of the hair? _

_ I couldn't tell if the person on the broom was being struck by lightning or if their hair was just like that. _

_ I have been wondering the same thing for ages, but I thought it was rude to ask. _

Harry had to bite down on a snicker, but then Ron was addressing the court, and Draco and Harry both looked up to listen.

"If there's one thing that we've learned," Ron started. "It's that sometimes the injustices of the past take a long time to sort out. Sometimes things never get sorted, and leads to more heartache down the line. All these months after the war is over, we still come here asking you to make right the wrongs that Tom Riddle caused. Today that question comes in the form of one of Tom Riddle's first victims, Rubeus Hagrid. The defendant was a third year student at Hogwarts when Riddle recognized that he could make everyone see a monster where there wasn't one. In order to hide the evil things he had done at the school, including killing Myrtle Warren, Riddle put the blame on Hagrid. Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts, his wand confiscated, and his right to practice his own magic was taken from him. Because of the extraordinary foresight of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Hagrid has remained on staff at Hogwarts School of Magic since then.

"But herein lies our complaint. Six years ago, events transpired at Hogwarts school that made it very clear that Hagrid never endangered his fellow students and had nothing to do with the death of Myrtle Warren. Events which culminated in my sister, Ginevra Weasley, nearly being killed by the same force. Long before then, the actions of Tom Riddle made it clear that any "services to the school" he rendered should be viewed with a shrewd eye. But did anyone re-examine Hagrid's expulsion? No. Our friend and professor was forgotten. He had already lost his education and his magic. Even when he came into the public eye again, when he was taken to Azkaban without a trial during our second year at Hogwarts, none of the authorities took the time to review the information pertaining to Hagrid's alleged crimes. As such, we believe that Hagrid should have his magic fully reinstated, his previous expulsions stricken from the records, and the fees for his enrollment in adult magic courses paid."

Ron took his seat on the bench next to Hermione, and Harry watched him count to three under his breath before he looked to Hermione for a sign that he'd done alright.

Harry liked seeing the faces around the room when Hermione and Ron referred to Voldemort as Tom Riddle. Normally he was in favor of calling people what they wanted to be called, and he knew the ice-cold reasons that Tom Riddle had wanted to be distant from his name. But when the events that had gotten Hagrid expelled happened, he hadn't been the pale imitation of a person. He'd been a boy that could charm everyone, a bright boy with a shadowy mind. He'd been a riddle, once, before everything had ended the way it did.

Draco's quill scratched on the paper between them, and Harry saw the words appearing.  _ Are you alright? _

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't shift to take the pen, because what could he write?

_ You look like you're somewhere else. _

_ Thinking. _ Harry wrote back.  _ About how everyone just used to be kids in school. _

He'd known that the answer would make Draco's eyes go dark and closed, and it did. Draco set down the pen, his fingers instead squeezing each other. Harry thought about taking his hands to still them, but that would draw too much attention in this crowded room. It would stress Draco out more.

He was able to pay enough attention to the trial to know that Hermione and Ron were absolutely mopping the floor with the speccy wizard assigned against them. He was impressed, but by now he knew enough to assume that the wizard had been picked to make Ron and Hermione look good. No one had anything to lose on giving Hagrid his magic back, except for anti-giant bigots. Everyone else would want this to be an open and shut trial.

He noticed, too, that Ron was doing more of the talking than he'd expected. He'd sort of assumed that Ron and Hermione working together meant Ron giving her glasses of water when her throat got croaky. But that wasn't what was happening. Hermione leaned forward and added a few whispered thoughts, and then Ron turned around and addressed the whole court.

_ It wasn't like that at our trial, _ Draco wrote.  _ Hermione did more of the speaking. Ron must have asked to take a bigger role with Hagrid. _

_ He's good, _ Harry wrote, and Draco nodded.

"Before you come to your final decision." Ron said, standing with his feet spread and planted before the entire Wizengamot. "We would like to call to mind a memory that anyone who stood at the Battle of Hogwarts will remember, a memory that has been revisited in case after case by this collective court. When Harry faced Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest and we thought all was lost, those who fought remember who carried Harry back to the castle."

Ron's voice was clear, but behind him, Hagrid wiped tears out of his eyes. Harry blinked hard. He didn't want a front page spread of him tearing up in court on the front of the Daily Prophet tomorrow.

"The same person that carried Harry to his family when his parents were killed. The same person who brought him to Diagon Alley and taught him what it meant to be a wizard. The wizard community turned its back on Rubeus Hagrid, but he has never turned his back on us. We await your decision."

The Wizengamot buzzed with conversation, and Pansy leaned back in her seat and let out a soft curse. She looked at Draco. "See what they could have done if we'd ever actually done anything good in our lives for them to work with?"

Draco blinked as if pulling himself from a trance and looked at Harry. "Right. I think Hagrid's set. If anyone votes against that, it'll be spitting in Harry's face."

And Draco was right. When the Head of the Wizengamot announced their decision, it was a formal apology to Hagrid on top of everything else that Ron and Hermione had requested.

Hagrid stood there in the crush of people that rushed out of their seats when they were dismissed, head and shoulders above all the wizards and witches that hurried over to him to congratulate him, mechanically raising a hand to pump when someone reached for him, but otherwise still. His face was blank, and he was looking vaguely in Harry's direction, but not exactly at Harry.

Harry vaulted over the banister that separated him from the wide open floor and shoved his way to the front of the congratulatory queue in front of Hagrid.

He looked at Hagrid's still-blank expression. Why had he never thought of fixing this before? Ron was right. They'd been thinking about other things, but they could have righted this years ago. He'd never understood how important this was. He threw himself at Hagrid in a hug and wrapped his arms as far around the man as he could, and even though he heard the cameras starting to flash around the two of them, he didn't pull away. Hagrid's beard did a neat job of hiding the tears, anyway.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Harry's B-day (in real life, not the fic). Happy birthday, Harry! Have a hangover and some therapy.

Hagrid convinced all of them to go to the Three Broomsticks afterward, and not even Hermione mentioned needing to get back to the castle. Draco and Pansy looked like they were going to try to sneak away, but Hermione grabbed Pansy's elbow and whispered in her ear, "This is an appearance, Pansy. People are going to be there."

Harry shivered. If the sorting hat had told Harry that he'd do well in Slytherin, what had it told Hermione?

When they walked into the inn, he saw just how right Hermione was. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend for the students, but the Three Broomsticks was still more crowded than Harry had ever seen it. It was as if everyone had known that Hagrid was going to come here after his trial and they'd--

"Hermione, did you plan this?" Harry frowned, looking at the many Ministry officials and friends of Hagrid's that had just "stopped by" for a pint.

"Why would you think--"

"McGonagall is here," Harry observed. "You know how busy she is right now."

"I knew we'd win," Hermione shrugged. "And I thought that Hagrid deserved a bit of celebration. But for Merlin's sake, Potter, make sure he's drinking water and Butterbeer at least in equal measure with the Firewhisky."

Harry nodded. This part, at least, he could help with. 

And as the party went on, Harry proceeded to be very helpful, switching his drink with Hagrid's twice. Hagrid just laughed each time. "Suppose you've got as much a right to the 'arder stuff if anyone 'as."

Hagrid was right. He did have a right to the harder stuff, and when someone asked who would take a shot of Ogden's Finest to Hagrid's health, of course Harry accepted one, and pretty soon he had lost Hagrid and forgotten why he was looking for Hagrid. No, he was looking for Hagrid because he was supposed to drink anything that Hagrid wanted to drink before he could drink it. Unless it was water. There was no point in that.

He turned abruptly and ran into Draco. "Oh, Draco. Have you seen Hagrid? I'm supposed to protect him from drinking too much."

Draco stared at Harry with dull eyes, and then some wizard in a bright purple robe that Harry couldn't place shoved a bottle into Harry's hand and said, "Cheers, Harry Potter. You saved my family and I've never had a chance to thank you."

Harry nodded and tipped back the bottle because it would be ungrateful not to drink, wouldn't it?

When the purple robed wizard disappeared in the crowd, Draco snatched the bottle from Harry and put it behind the bar.

"Hey," Harry protested. "Get your own drinks to waste. Somebody paid for that. Was a thank you gift."

"I'm not going to sacrifice my liver or my morning trying to save you from all the alcohol you've been drinking," Draco snapped. "So how about if you slow down just a little bit."

"You're such a stick in the mud, Draco," Harry sang, "I'm just having fun. We're celebrating Hagrid. Everyone is so, so, so happy." He flung his arms wide, accidentally hitting a witch on one side and knocking over a drink on the other. When his victims saw it was his fault, they both grinned and raised their drinks to him.

Harry turned back to Draco, who looked like he was covered in starlight. "Wow, you're beautiful. How do you look so good right now?"

"Because you're drunk," Draco said shortly. "We've been here for two hours. I'm trying to be a good sport, but I'd like to go."

"If you drank something, you might forget that you're obsessed with being dull." Harry grabbed a shot off of the bar. It hadn't been poured for him, but no one said anything. No one stopped him from taking what he wanted. Ha, this was the light, and the magic, the power that he'd been aching for since he'd found out he was a wizard. No, since so long before that. This was his power, grinning and taking what he wanted and trusting the bright light of his presence to keep providing.

He tried to press the shot glass into Draco's hand. "Take this. It's a magic potion that will make you fun."

Draco pushed it away firmly, and enough sloshed out of the little glass that Harry frowned and tipped the rest into his own mouth.

"I want to go back to the castle," Draco said. "And I want you to come too. I'm worried that you're going to do something you regret."

Harry's lips pulled up at the corners, sharp and hungry. "I'm having fun, Draco. I'm happy. I thought you wanted me to be happy."

Draco took a step back, bumping into somebody in green robes, who frowned down at him. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then, with a crack, he disappeared, and Harry was left holding his empty shot glass, grinning at the space.

*** *** *** 

Madam Rosmerta must have had a plan to keep the Leaky Cauldron open all night, because she didn't start kicking people out until the dark pre-dawn around five in the morning.

"Sorry, you lot," she said as Hermione and Ron peeled Harry off the bar, where he had tipped over. "But I think you'd better find a way into your beds before the rest of the castle wakes up. I don't want Minerva thinking I let you get up to--well, everything you got up to last night."

"Are you sure it's alright if Hagrid sleeps it off here?" Hermione asked. "I think we could float him back to the castle if he's going to be any trouble to you."

Rosemerta waved away Hermione's concern. "You take care of your friend. It won't be the first time Hagrid's slept off a busy night here."

Harry looked blearily from Ron to Hermione. "Is it already over? How much did I sleep through?"

"Just the last bit," Hermione said, "The part where I spelled you and Hagrid to sleep so you'd stop the race to give yourself alcohol poisoning."

Harry winced. "Lost track of Hagrid. Sorry."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look behind his head, which was annoying enough to pierce the haze of alcohol. Yeah, they were becoming great at their little nonverbal communication game, but he'd never wanted to be stuck in the middle while they played at it. "You could talk to me out loud," he said. "And I'll probably answer whatever question you've got."

"Just wondering why you decided to drink yourself under the table," Ron said.

"Because there was plenty of alcohol to do it, and everyone kept giving it to me."

Hermione and Ron were silent, and this time they were carefully not looking at each other.

"The trial was a lot of memories. Going to the ministry brought back a lot of memories. Walking through Merlin-cursed Hogsmeade brings back memories. And you know what alcohol does? It makes the memories be quiet for one night. It's like a Patronus." Harry stopped talking, suddenly preoccupied with trying to come up with what ingredients he'd want to put into a drink called Patronus.

"It's not like a Patronus, Harry," Hermione frowned. "Unless you're planning on going back to the castle and telling all the first years about the wonders of drinking your weight in Firewhisky for defending yourself against the Dark Arts."

Harry went quiet. Damn. The first years. He was going to have to avoid them until he was sober, and then probably until it wasn't totally obvious that he was hungover. At least he could sleep through today. His transfiguration NEWT wasn't going to study for itself, and he only that the vaguest of ideas what he was going to do with his class next week when they started their "Dark Disguises" unit, but none of that was going to be any good if he didn't get some sleep now.

"Shit," he said, so loud that both Hermione and Ron recoiled a bit. "I've got my first counseling appointment at St. Mungo's today."

"Oh," Hermione said, trying very hard not to sound too pleased. "This might be a good time to talk through some of those memories."

"I'm going to cancel," Harry muttered, freeing his arm from Hermione's grip so he could run it down his face. Not because he actually was going to cancel. Lacey had asked him when he was going to talk to a mind healer, and he'd told her. She was way too invested in it for him to admit to her that he hadn't done it at the last minute because he'd gotten too schnozzled. But he was still drunk enough to be saying stupid things, and he wanted Hermione and Ron to try to convince him. Merlin, being this drunk was honest. He was even telling the truth in his own head.

"No, you're not," Ron said. "Mate, Hermione and I might have missed a few things, but we're going to carry you to St. Mungo's right now and dump you in the waiting room just like this if you don't promise us that you'll take a good nap, wash your face, and get yourself there."

"Fine," he muttered, but he was smiling a bit. 

*** *** ***

Harry walked through the fireplace and directly into his appointment room at St. Mungo's. It was a pretty good system that Pomfrey had rigged up, and even though she'd given his blood shot eyes a sharp look and handed him a hydration potion when he arrived in the Hospital Wing, all she said was, "I'm glad you've decided to give this a try, Potter. There's only so much that skelegro and chocolate frogs can mend."

The first thing Harry noticed about the room was that it smelled like St. Mungo's, and he remembered the time that he and Ron and Hermione had spent Christmas visiting Mr. Weasley here. 

And they’d seen Neville’s parents. Harry supposed they were both still here. The war was over, but spending his holidays in the hospital would never be over for Neville. Merlin, he should talk to Neville.

He noticed, too, that there were large, bright windows on one side of the room, letting in more light than seemed possible for the cloudy mid-morning. The furniture in the room was small and soft looking, and there was a woman with large red glasses and globe earrings dangling from her ears sitting in one of the chairs. She reminded him instantly of Luna, but perhaps a Luna on a frequency closer to that of other human beings.

"Hello. Harry Potter? I believe this is the first time I've had the pleasure of meeting you."

She stood and stretched out her hand, and Harry shook it. "I thought a mind-healer's office would look a lot more--magicky?"

She laughed. "I was raised in a non-magic household, and I specialize in working with kids and adults who bridge those worlds in some way. I have some of the magicky tools in the cabinet. We can play with those later, if you like."

Harry felt a knot loosen in his chest. He didn't think he was allowed to ask, but her words made him nearly certain that this was the same person who'd been talking to Lacey.

"You can take a seat wherever you'll be comfortable," she said.

Harry sat in a chair against the wall that allowed him to see the windows from the corner of his eye and still face enough toward the door and the fireplace to keep an eye on them.

"And you won't be needing your wand, Mr. Potter," the mind-healer continued softly. "But feel free to keep it out for our first session if it's comfortable."

Harry shoved the wand into his robe, frowning. He didn't need to hold onto his wand all the time as though it was a child's toy.

"My name is Dr. Goodnight. I studied mind healing as a wizard and I've taken non-magic psychology courses. We can use tools from any of the practices I've learned to help you get your mind as healthy as possible. Why don't you start by telling me a little about what's going on and what your goals are? That'll help us figure out how to get started."

"I'm sorry, this is probably a waste of your time," Harry said. Even as me muttered the words, he realized that Dr. Goodnight could probably diagnose him just off that predictable response. "I mean, I'm only here because of one of my students, Lacey Ketteridge. She told me I should come talk to a mind-healer, and I couldn't find a way to tell her no. Not without making it seem like I didn't think she should be seeing a mind-healer, and she really needs to."

The counselor laughed. "I love it. Sometimes surprising people have a way of getting us to do things we wouldn't do for anyone else. Let's humor Lacey, then. Why did she think it was important for you to come?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Dr. Goodnight. "I don't want anyone playing games with me."

Her eyes went a little wider for a moment, and then she nodded. "Noted. No games. Not that kind, at least."

She was silent, and Harry shifted. "I don't know what my goals are. If I knew any of that, maybe I'd just be able to do it, but I don't know what I need to do."

"And it sounds like Lacey, and maybe some other folks in your life, wanted to see you come talk to someone. What do you think sparked this concern?"

"I don't know." Probably not wanting to worry about him any more. "I have nightmares sometimes. I have trouble focusing, although that's not a big deal. I've always had a hard time focusing, and I still managed to save the world, didn't I?"

She smiled again, and Harry had the sense she was holding back from laughing. It hadn't been the laughter that upset him last time, it was the trickery. The little manipulations that reminded him of the ministry.

"Anything else?"

Harry shrugged. Should he mention the thing about how he never went to meals, or how last night he'd only meant to drink enough to celebrate Hagrid's victory, and the next thing he'd known, he'd been waking up on the bar? "I'm dating an ex-death eater," he said suddenly. "Who is a boy."

"Okay," Dr. Goodnight tilted her head a little, tapping her quill against the page. "Does that fit with the other things you're telling me about? Or is it something you wanted me to know about you?"

"I don't know," Harry answered, again. Even though he should know. Dating Draco was not the same as having a nightmare. But it wasn't the way he'd expected this part to go. And as supportive as Hermione and Ron had been, he wondered if people didn't think it was just another part of Harry losing his grip. 

*** *** ***

By the end of the hour, Harry had probably said "I don't know" forty-five more times, but Dr. Goodnight was looking at her notepad thoughtfully. "Alright, Harry. This is what I think we've figured out today. Tell me if I've made a mistake somewhere. People are worried for you because you're having nightmares and you've been distracted, although you think that's a general pattern, and maybe people have been noticing it more now. You have a new boyfriend, and someone might think that's something to worry about, although you're not worried about it, yourself. And you have a lot of questions about what to do with yourself and your future. Is that right?"

Harry scratched at the place on his neck where his hair fell. "I mean, I guess. It doesn't seem like--none of that seems like a big deal. Everyone's having a hard time adjusting after the war. Everyone lost people."

Goodnight paused. "I'm going to add that, if you don't mind, Harry. That's the first time you mentioned losing people."

Harry's heart squeezed. "I guess."

"Harry, if I may--I'm not an expert. But it seems like you've done a lot of things for a lot of people, mostly because you saw it as your job. It's  _ my _ job to help people talk through things in their own brains and see if they can untangle things in a way that makes them healthier. There's no list of people who are most worthy of getting help or triage of people who have the biggest problems that get seen first. You're welcome here, and you don't have to question whether or not you deserve this. I would like to see you next week."

Harry shrugged. He was busy. Appointments on Saturdays would mean not going to Hogsmeade weekends with his friends or Draco. It would mean an hour less for his own homework or trying to teach. But what else could he say? "Sure. I'll be here."


	6. Chapter Six

Harry arrived back at the castle in time for lunch, and since he hadn't even mentioned the food-and-Great-Hall eating thing to Dr. Goodnight, he figured he might as well go. Because it wasn't really a problem. It wasn't a big deal for him.

He walked into the Great Hall. Several of the first years waved at him, and he waved back. His eyes skipped over the emptiness of the long tables, but not so fast that his stomach didn't squeeze. This happened every time. He knew the tables weren't less full just because of the underage students that had snuck back in and died in the battle, although there was always a seat at the Gryffindor table where he imagined Colin Creevey. 

But more seats were empty now because Hogwarts hadn't been safe. Because when the parents had been counting on the school to protect their children, Harry had brought danger here.

He locked his eyes on the end of the eighth-year table, where Hermione and Ron sat with Pansy and Draco. That was the second reason he'd been avoiding the Great Hall for so much of this year. There were so many seats he could sit where people would welcome him, but everyone would notice if he wasn't sitting with Hermione and Ron, and Hermione had put down her foot and insisted on sitting with the Slytherins since nearly the beginning of the year. Which was fine  _ now _ , but Harry hadn't been able to stand it before he and Draco figured out where they stood. 

"Oh, Harry," Hermione greeted. Harry got a strong impression from the way that Draco and Pansy spun around to look at him that the four of them had been discussing him before he arrived. Maybe his stunning performance from last night, or maybe his appointment this morning. He slipped into the seat next to Draco. Draco gave him a cool look, and Harry tried to remember exactly what he'd said to Draco while he'd been deep in the bottle.

"Just got back from my first appointment with the mind-healer," he forced himself to say.

"How was it?" Ron asked. If Hermione had asked, Harry wouldn't have been able to take it. She would have tried to force her voice to be casual but probably ended up sounding far too interested. Ron's focus was actually on his fork, on which he was trying to balance an even mixture of potato and gravy. He was only asking to be polite, and it was a weight off of Harry's shoulders.

"I don't think it was actually supposed to help with anything this time, she was just trying to figure out what's wrong with me. Just, you know, a lot of sitting and talking, which is sort of terrible."

Hermione beamed. "We're all so proud of you for going and talking with her, Harry. I'm sure you did great."

"Do you want to play a seeker's match of Quidditch after lunch?" Draco said in a rush.

"Sure?" Harry didn't mean to put the question in his voice, but he couldn't figure why Draco was so eager to change the subject. Besides, when Draco wanted to do something together, it was usually studying. The really exciting suggestions were walking around the lake outside or checking on their tree. He'd never suggested Quidditch before.

Maybe, Harry thought, Draco had been eager to play a seeker game because he'd learned some new Quidditch trick that would allow him to beat Harry. Or maybe he wanted to have a conversation away from the nosey ears of the rest of their table. But these ideas seemed flimsier after Harry caught the snitch twice without seeing any new moves from Draco. And Draco was talking to him, but nothing more important than some razzing about his broom work.

"I really ought to get back and get to work on the grading," Harry muttered. Most of the afternoon had melted away with the two of them revolving around each other's gravity on brooms. As much as he wanted the whole evening to follow that same pattern, the work he had to do was starting to loom so large in his mind that he couldn't stay focused on the game.

"Alright, " Draco said, bringing his broom to a landing. "We could work in the room tonight. Mother sent a care package and she wanted me to be sure to share the treats."

Harry jumped from his own broom a foot above the ground. Both of them were flushed from flying and the wind, but Draco's face looked especially warm. "Are you blushing?" he grinned. He wanted to throw an arm around Draco and jostle him as he asked, but he kept his hand at his side.

"No, I'm not," Draco said, too quickly.

"You are," Harry laughed, feeling a bubble of fondness for the prickly boy, who was now looking away with his chin raised very high. "You're blushing over inviting me to hang out with you in the room tonight. But you know there's no way we'll have it to ourselves, right?"

Draco turned to give Potter an incredulous look. "Those are not the kind of care packages my mother sends, thank you, Potter."

The disgusted expression on Draco's face made him laugh so much harder, and before he could stop, even Draco was chuckling and shaking his head. 

"Okay. Let me just get through the quizzes that I should have handed back this week, and then I'll come up to the room and we can study for Transfiguration together."

Harry saw a shadow pass over Draco's face like he was going to object, but then the corners of Draco's mouth pulled back in an unconvincing smile. "Sure. I'll see you after dinner, then?"

*** *** ***

Harry worked through the first few quizzes with the motivation of making it back to the dorm before Draco had a chance to eat all of the chocolate, but as the evening got later and realized that he'd only made it through half the quizzes, his thoughts started to spin. Why did everything take him so long? It couldn't possibly take all the other professors this long to grade everything. Not when they had so many different age levels to plan for. How did any of them do it? If anything, this was a clear sign that he should turn McGonagall down. The kids would never have to know that he'd been offered a real position. And they would be fine. McGonagall would find some way for them to get the instruction they needed. That was just what she did.

But if he said no to this opportunity, would he be any better at the other things? Being an Auror or working at the ministry probably required reports and things as well. And focus. Aurors couldn't afford to miss a thing. If he couldn't manage to focus on anything in front of him unless it was a threat, none of those jobs were going to--

There was a tapping on the window, and Harry startled, wand at the ready in an instant. The tapping came again, and he forced his fingers to relax around the wand. It was Draco's owl, looking impatient, as always. Harry stretched and walked across the room to open the window. It had gotten really dark, but this owl meant that Draco was still awake. Maybe he should just go up there now and chuck half of the unfinished quizzes at Draco. He unrolled the note and scanned its sparse contents.

Potter,

I like you. I like being around you.

I wish you were here, or I were there.

Fondly,

Draco

Harry's heart did a squeeze that he was not expecting, and he flipped over the note to respond.

Draco,

I hope you've saved something chocolate for me, you greedy git.

Harry

"There," he said, affixing the note to the owl's foot. "Now see if you can beat me to the room."

Harry gathered up the unmarked quizzes in one hand and his quill and ink in the other and took off at a run, leaving the window open in the Defense classroom. Flitwick, who taught the first class of the week, would probably complain about it, but at the moment Harry didn't care. He burst into the eighth-year dorm and, ignoring all the shocked faces that looked up at his entrance, pelted into his own room just as Draco was scanning his response to the note.

"Thank you, Orion. Next time I'll just send you down to peck him on the head until he comes up." He gave his owl a treat and turned to eye Harry. "Did you forget we were going to study up here?"

Harry's heart squeezed again. Draco had pulled another chair over to his desk and carefully created a pile of sweets in front of Harry's spot that remained untouched.

"No," Harry grinned. "I forgot that you liked me. Good reminder."

Draco swatted at him.

"Also, I haven't finished the grading."

He spotted a note on the corner of Draco's desk. It was folded neatly in half, but he could still see that it was addressed to him. "What's this?" he asked, snatching it.

"Nothing. Give that back. It's not for you."

"It's addressed to me. Was this your first go before you came up with what you actually sent?" Harry glanced at the page. "This is a lot longer."

Draco looked pained. "I didn't send it because it's obnoxious," he said. "I thought the other one would do the job."

Harry set the letter down on the desk, letting the folded page cover the writing. "I won't read it if you really don't want me to."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "This is why you never get anything finished, Potter."

"Why, because I'm too interested in whatever you're doing?"

Draco snorted. "Definitely not that."

Harry poked the page. "Yes or no, Draco?"

"Yes, fine. Read it." Draco flipped a page in his book harder than necessary. Harry knew it might be the nicer move to tuck the letter back into Draco's things and not look at what he'd really been saying, but he wanted to know.

Dear Harry,

I imagine you're still 'marking quizzes' and by that, I mean getting distracted and thinking about questions that have nothing to do with the paper you set. I wish you were up here, thinking through those things next to me, so I could poke you when you get too far away.

If you think I can come to any conclusion other than the idea that you've been avoiding the dorms so you can avoid me, you don't know me very well. I've been trying so hard to be a good boyfriend, the kind that Saint Potter deserves, but without bringing up that I'm not good enough to be the kind of boyfriend you deserve to have. I am trying to be fun. I'm trying to smile and make the kind of jokes that make you laugh. I'm trying to relax and make it so that when you're with me, you feel relaxed, too. But you don't, I know you don't.

Do you think that there's something you can't talk to me about? Is it because I snapped at you over the fact that you have too many job offers and I've got nothing? It's fine. I do understand why you're having a hard time deciding. Even if it is hard for me to push aside the envy that so many people want you. Both because no one wants me and because I want you all to myself. Is this about the first years? Is it about Lacey? You know I'll do anything to help you fix that. Probably including several things you wouldn't be willing to do yourself. Maybe you see me as toothless and innocent because I can't kill, but believe me: I can bite. If I ever meet Lacey's family, I will.

This is a long and whining letter because I haven't yet figured out how to get what I want. This way or any other. I'm not going to send you this because I'm trying so hard not to be whining. What I really want you to know is that I like you so much that it's hard for me to say. It's a thought that I've always taught to die alone, and sharing it with anyone is really hard. But I like you. I like being around you. I wish you were here, or I were there.

P.S. I have already eaten all the sugar quills. I like them better than you do, and when you eat them you always make it look obscene.

Harry had not meant to start laughing when he finished the letter, but then Draco had gone and ended with a line like that, and how was he supposed to keep himself from laughing now?

He looked up, and Draco's face was very pale.

"Draco," Harry managed. "I'm laughing about the sugar quills. I can't help the way I eat them. I think it's just your mind."

"You do not need to eat sugar quills like that," Draco snapped. "It's not decent. Now give me that letter back so I can incinerate it or something."

"I'd rather not," Harry said. "I'd rather keep it. Can I keep it?"

Malfoy looked ready to fight. "That's stupid, Potter. It's not even a nice letter. I just go on and on about stupid things."

"And sugar quills. And I like it. Even if--" he let out a deep breath. "Even if you are wrong about a lot of things. I'm not avoiding you."

Draco looked down at his transfiguration. He was still slightly pink, but it was less fun because he also looked miserable.

"Here," Harry handed Draco slightly more than half of the quizzes that he hadn't marked. 

*** *** ***

The kids were buzzing around the Defense room, Harry thought he’d come up with a brilliant lesson, but he couldn’t get Hariot and Midgen to stop tripping people. 

Every dark detector that Harry had been able to track down was sitting on the tables around the room, and he'd challenged the kids to figure out what they were and how they worked. He thought the lesson would be interesting enough that they'd want to participate instead of bullying their classmates for a few minutes, but that had clearly been a miscalculation.

"What's this one called, Professor?" Sam asked, peering closely at the foggy glass.

Harry swallowed. He knew the dark-detectors would make him think of Mad-Eye-Moody, but he hadn't expected it to be accompanied with a quick flash of the blonde hair and sunken eyes of Barty Crouch Jr. in the courtroom, screaming.  _ Father, father _ . All these memories followed their own paths now. 

Harry tried to fix Hariot with a stare before turning to answer Sam's question. "It's called a foe-glass. It shows enemies. People who wish you harm. As the threat gets closer, the image gets clearer."

He studied the image over Sam's shoulder, and his chest squeezed. The mirror was crowded with buzzing figures, some of them far off and others uncomfortably close. Harry tried not to worry about Sam. Everyone had enemies somewhere, and they weren’t always earned. 

Lacey, who was trailing a few steps behind Sam moved in front of the mirror, and the image snapped into focus, unmistakable and far too close.

Lacey made a small, wounded sound, and Harry tried to nudge her out of the way before the whole class started gawking. Of course it was her parents, who else could it have been?”

But Lacey planted her feet. “Look. It reflects me. I thought it might.” 

She was right. The foe-glass looked like a mirror, but it didn’t function as one. Harry didn’t see himself when he looked into the surface. Sam hadn’t appeared, either. But centered in the frame, closer and crisper even than her own parents, was Lacey. What did that mean? Was Lacey truly a threat to herself, or was the glass simply conveying what they all knew, that Lacey’s mind wasn’t always on her side? 

He needed to know why Lacey was in her own foe-glass, and it wasn’t okay that Sam’s glass was so crowded with strangers, and he needed to  _ do  _ something. 

Harry squeezed his eyes closed. Just for a moment, just to clear--

Just enough time for the crash, thump, and the scream, and the creaking of the classroom door opening. Harry opened his eyes and twisted slowly to the doorway. 

He fully expected to see McGonagall's disapproving figure in the doorway. Some magic of the castle had warned her that things were going awry, no doubt. She should see this, though. She should understand what she was inviting when she offered Harry a position on staff.

Instead, Draco Malfoy was standing framed in the doorway, his hair soft across his forehead the way he'd worn it on the day of Hagrid's trial, already muttering a charm to right the desks and the student who'd crashed into them.

"Trying to learn how to fly, O'Brien?" Draco asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

Ravi looked at the ground and muttered something no one could hear.

Harry should be the one taking care of this. It was his class. These were his students who'd gotten out of hand while he'd been panicking about the voices of memory. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't have you on the schedule for today."

"No. And I'll go if I'm going to be a distraction," he gave a brief smile, as if he faintly realized that he was always a distraction to Harry. "But I wanted an extra practice session with a couple of your students, if that's alright."

How could Harry say no? He obviously had no control over the classroom. He was supposed to be teaching how to defend themselves and others against the forces of darkness and they were deliberately hurting each other, instead. "Sure. Just as long as everyone gets a turn with the dark detectors.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and picked up one of the amulets, which started glowing a deep red. "Well. That one works, at least. Mister Hariot, meet me in the back."

The whole class fell silent, staring at Draco and the glowing red amulet. Of course. Only Draco would be able to create a scene with even more drama than the mess he'd walked in on. He dropped the amulet back to the pillow and walked with measured steps to the back of the classroom, looking for all the world like he didn't even notice the staring. Hariot shuffled over to the corner, throwing resentful looks over his shoulder at Ravi, as if this was all his fault, and the rest of the class stampeded over to pick up the amulet.

"It doesn't do anything when I pick it up," a Hufflepuff complained. "You try it, Liam." 

Liam played along, but when the amulet didn't even flicker for the first several students to try it on, the Hufflepuff ventured, "Did Mr. Malfoy say a spell without us seeing?

Harry shook his head. "Nope. No spell."

"Not to be rude," Sam said, shooting a look over their shoulder at Draco, who was already hard at work with Devon Hariot, "But maybe it detects something about how he used to be a Death Eater."

All the students' eyes went wide. Ever since Draco had shown up just in time to stop Lacey from transforming into an Obscurial, Sam had been a big fan of Draco. That didn't mean they'd forgotten the past.

"Hand it here.” Harry held out his hand.

The moment that the amulet touched Harry's palm, it started glowing with the same light, so intense that he could almost hear it thrumming.

"Can I try it?" Lacey asked, her eyes narrowing with determination.

Harry handed it over, suddenly hesitant. He knew why the amulet came to life in his hands and Draco's--it reacted to curse scars. The scar on his forehead and the network of scars on Draco's chest, courtesy of Harry's adolescent rage, made it shine. 

The light didn't dim when Harry released the amulet into Lacey's palm.

"Does it have to do with--" Lacey screwed up her forehead in concentration. "With the way that dark magic leaves a mark on you?"

"Five points to Gryffindor," Harry said under his breath. "You figured out the detector."

When Draco finished with Devon Hariot, the boy returned to his desk to pout instead of fiddling with any of the detectors. Harry kept looking over. He should try to talk to Hariot. But the last several times that Harry had tried, Hariot started talking loudly about how he didn't care what Harry had to say until Harry couldn't get any words in edgewise and just gave up. Besides, he wasn't actually bothering anyone, for once. 

Draco didn't spare a second glance on Devon. He called Ravi over to meet with him next, and Lacey near the end of the hour. When Harry dismissed them, Lacey jumped up and gave Draco a lightning-quick hug before running out the door after Sam.

"Hariot." Draco said, and the boy pulled up short. "I said we were going to have a word with Professor Potter before you left, didn't I?"

"I forgot. I'm going to be late for charms."

"We'll write a note," Draco sniffed. "Besides, it won't take long if you go ahead and tell Potter what you told me."

Hariot kept his eyes locked on the top of his desk and his hands curled tight around his wand. "I didn't want to do the game with dark detectors today."

"Because?"

Hariot muttered something moodily at the surface of his desk.

"What?"

"I thought they'd pick up on me. And then everybody would know that I'm not good. That I got put in the wrong house."

Harry shot Draco a confused look, but Draco was still focused on Hariot, waiting for the boy to say more.

"When I put on the sorting hat," Hariot exploded, "It said it was going to put me in Slytherin, and then I said if it did that I would hide it and nobody would ever be able to find it again. Everybody looked so sad about getting put in Slytherin. People were crying. I could tell it wasn't a good thing, and I wasn't going to go there. So the hat gave up and put me in Gryffindor, but I should have been in Slytherin and I know you always say that it's not the evil house, but all the bad guys go there anyway, and I try to be good but I think I'm actually meant to be evil."

Harry could feel his mouth gaping open and realized that staring probably wouldn't set Hariot at ease.

Harry cleared his throat. "Wow. I've never thought of threatening the Sorting Hat."

"That's exactly what I mean! That's not the kind of thing a good wizard would do."

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, too." Harry had never told Draco this, and he was sharply aware of that. "And I told the sorting hat that it could put me anywhere but there. That's what I told the first year Slytherins at the feast, when they were all upset. I didn't think that any of the Gryffindors might have done more or less the same thing as me."

Devon Hariot's eyes were huge and round with shock. "But you belong in Gryffindor. You're all about being good and noble and taking care of people."

"Sure," Harry shrugged. "But I wondered, sometimes. And somebody told me that it's all about our choices. We choose what kind of person we want to be, and then we do our best to stick to that. And Devon, there's bad choices in all of us. That's why we practice Defense."

Devon's eyes were still big, and now they were starting to get damp, so Harry stood up. "But now, I think, it's time for you to go practice charms, so--" he scribbled a quick note to Flitwick on a scrap of parchment and handed it to his student. "Have a good lesson."

As soon as he'd exited, Harry sank into the teacher's chair in the front of the room. "Sorry you had to see that mess. It really helps that you can actually read my student's minds."

"The sorting hat tried to put you in Slytherin?"

"Yeah. I sort of forgot you didn't know about that. And I had some-- I don't know, panics--about whether or not I was really just like Tom Riddle and belonged in Slytherin too. I can't believe Devon was going through the same thing and I didn't even realize it."

"You were supposed to be in Slytherin," Draco repeated, still sounding dazed. "We could have been in the same house."

Harry was surprised at the note of sadness in Draco's voice. He  _ could _ have been in Slytherin, but he wasn't  _ supposed _ to be in Slytherin. He'd been meant to be in Gryffindor, with Hermione and Ron, the sword of Gryffindor and the support of the other Lions. 

"We could have been on the same Quidditch team."

Harry didn't say that they probably never would have been on the same Quidditch team because if Harry was the seeker, there would have never been an opening for Draco to play. And he definitely didn't say that the reason he'd learned about Slytherin before the sorting ceremony, the reason he knew before the hat was placed on his head that he didn't want anything to do with it, was because Draco had made such a prat of himself before he had any idea who Harry was. Because this foregone thing, this past that Harry had never really considered, was making Draco actually sad.

"Hey. We're together now," Harry offered.

Draco shook his head like he was clearing out all the other things that he wished could be the case. "Right. I came down to talk to Lacey, because I know you're always worrying about her. I just decided to talk to Hariot first because he was being such a prat."

Harry sighed. He was still worried about Hariot. Maybe there was more he needed to say to the kid, about how Slytherins might be the one who'd been caught in evil that everyone could see, but that didn't mean that Gryffindors were always blameless. Sometimes it took courage to be brutal, too.

"How is Lacey's Occlumency coming along?"

Draco shrugged. "Better than I would have expected at the beginning of the year. None of them are great, you know, but I can still see how they're getting better. But Lacey--before she left, she thanked me and said how all of this was going to help her so much this summer."

Harry swallowed. "I told McGonagall she has to find some other place for Lacey to be this summer. This isn't a game. People could die."

"And I know what McGonagall told you," Draco frowned. "That it's up to Lacey, and Lacey wants to go home."

"That's bollocks," Harry snarled. "You don't let kids choose to run back into a burning building. When the school says everybody's got to go home, she doesn't know that she can ask for anything different."

Draco was silent for a long time, so long that Harry was forced to turn and study his face. "Harry. You're not the same."

Harry's fingers flexed and twitched under the table.  _ An orphanage and a box of stolen treasures; the cupboard under the stairs and the broken soldiers he'd squirreled away. Cake in the floorboards. Asking if he could stay for the summer, please. _

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, surprised at the snarl in his voice.

Draco swallowed. He looked tense, too, his knuckles white against the dark wood of the student desk he sat in. "I know. But you could--if you wanted to tell me things, you could."

"Thanks. But--I've made you late for Arithmancy now, haven't I?"

Draco smiled. It was a tired smile, a tired-of-putting-up-with-your-shit smile. "You could write me a note."


	7. Chapter Seven

Harry sat across from Dr. Goodnight, fiddling with his wand. At least if he was twisting it between his fingers like this, it would look less like he was holding it at the ready. He was just fidgeting. There was nothing odd about that.

"Welcome, Harry," Dr. Goodnight greeted. Today her earrings were shaped like carrots.

"Where did you get those earrings?" He should get some as a gift for Luna. He hadn't actually talked to Luna in so long.

She looked surprised by the question, but she told him, and then she stood up and unlocked the cupboard that sat on the other side of the room. Harry had to turn away from the door to look inside, and he stilled his wand, holding it firm in his casting hand.

"These are some of the magical tools that I use in my practice," she said. She took out a shallow dish and put it on the low coffee table between them.

"A pensieve." Harry observed.

She tilted her head. "Nearly. You've had experiences with pensieves in the past?"

_ The trials. The Gaunt's horrible house and the cringing daughter. The doe and Snape's rage at Dumbledore.  _

"Some. Dumbledore had one that he used to show me some things."

“I’ve heard that Professor Dumbledore was very good at using these. And it takes a lot of courage to let someone see your thoughts through your own eyes. But then, this particular tool can't make your thoughts re-livable to you or anyone else. It just lets you take them out and see them. Sort them. Get to know them."

Harry thought of how Draco had told the first years that they could learn to identify their pet thoughts, the ones they kept feeding on emotion. He’d dragged himself through the exercise, too. He knew what pet thoughts lived with him. 

"We don't have to jump right in with this today, but I thought it might be worth a try, to see if we could untangle some of the things that are wrapped around each other in your mind."

Harry thought of calling those pets from the quiet, dark cupboard of his mind into this bright room and the discerning eyes of Dr Goodnight. He wondered how many of them would survive.

"I'll try it," he said, and realized that his teeth were gritted against how terrible he was already expecting it to be.

"Alright. Pick a thought out from all the things that are going on in your head. To get it out, you could try a spell like--" she cut herself off when Harry held his wand out in front of him, already shining with blue-grey smoke, and dipped it into the shallow dish. For a moment, the back of Lacey's head stood in relief against the image of her own face in the foe-glass. Harry repeated the motion, and Hagrid's face flickered on the surface of the not-quite a pensieve. Hagrid? That wasn't what Harry expected. He moved his hand again, and the soft hurt expression of Draco learning that Harry could have been in Slytherin danced on the surface for an instant, and then an image of Ron and Hermione, their heads leaned together as they worked over one of their review sheets.

This wasn't so bad. Thoughts. Just thoughts. He dropped in another--Kingsley Shacklebolt and Robards, both wearing identical expressions of impatience, and then Professor McGonnagal, dark circles under her eyes as she shuffled through the stack of papers on her desk.

There. None of them were that scary on their own, were they?

And then he dropped the next thought in the bowl, not sure what thought he'd caught out of the swimming mass of his own mind, and it was four faint figures, shimmering in the night air of the Forbidden Forest. His mother's hair and his father's eyes. Remus's sad smile and Sirius's tight fists.

Just a thought. Just one of the many swimming, twisting thoughts. Harry's hand tightened on the wand. In the next image, he could see Sirius's mouth moving and almost hear the words. "Nice one, James."

No. Harry's hand spasmed, and he moved back to his temple. There had to be some good thoughts in his mind, something left under the surface that wasn't--

_ Dobby's head lolling on Harry's knee, eyes closed for the final time. _

_ Percy's look of shock when Fred fell. _

_ Hedwig on the floor of her cage. _

His hand moved automatically, as if repeating this process for long enough would dig up something, anything else. 

_ King's Cross Station, but the one empty of trains and full of light, and Dumbledore's patient expression when Harry asked where the trains were going, and all he said was, "On." _

There was a pressure on his hand now, something concrete and warm holding his wand against the not-pensieve.

"Harry,"

Harry looked up from the swimming surface into Healder Goodnight's eyes. "Let's pause for a moment. Take a breath."

Harry obeyed, and his breath was ragged. "I don't think this is working," he muttered. "There are too many memories."

Dr. Goodnight nodded thoughtfully. "There's a lot in your head. You're carrying a lot with you."

"Isn't everyone?"

Dr. Goodnight leaned back a little and looked up. "Maybe so. Does that change how it feels to you, if other people are also carrying a lot with them?"

Yes. But also no. Harry shrugged. "It's nothing special."

"I have to disagree with you about that," she said, firmly. "The memories you have there--the people who love you, those you want to remember, are very special. The act of carrying that with you is special. It just doesn't have to be solitary."

"My boyfriend thinks I'm avoiding him," Harry felt a little shock at the word. He'd never called Draco his boyfriend before, not even in his head. It was just Draco, Draco who he was dating now. He didn't think he liked the word. Boy-friend.

"He thinks he's not doing a good enough job at being my boyfriend, but honestly he's way better than I expected. That sounds kind of mean. We're both kind of awkward and neither of us have a lot of experience, but I thought he'd be too sharp and impatient. Which he is, sometimes. But he's much better, and I'm basically as pants as I ever was."

If Healer Goodnight was surprised by the change of subject, she didn’t show it. "What does he do that surprises you?"

"He comes and finds me?" Harry paused. That shouldn't be a surprise, but it felt like one. "I'm not hiding, but people don't come looking for me that often, so it's a surprise when it happens. And he asks me to do things with him, even though I think he feels nervous about asking sometimes."

"It sounds like he shows you a lot of support. And that's important to you."

Harry shrugged. He looked at the wand in his hand. It would be fine, now, to start twirling it again. To show how casual and safe he felt.

"He's so much better at this than I am."

Goodnight laughed. "Does it bother you, that he's better?"

The question surprised Harry, and he smiled. "Yeah, I think it does. I like being better at things than Draco. He's my favorite person to beat at things. But he asked me to play Quidditch the other day and I beat him twice, and it's great to beat him, but then it's complicated, because he's being the better boyfriend by doing something I'm really good at so I feel better."

Goodnight pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh more. "You hear yourself, right?"

"Yes. I'm having an imaginary House Cup Boyfriend competition and I'm annoyed because Slytherin's winning."

Healer Goodnight made an effort to seem impartial, "Is that a helpful way of imagining your relationship?"

Harry imagined awarding points to Draco after snogging. "I don't know. We're both really motivated by winning the House Cup."

*** *** *** 

Which was why Harry decided to go to lunch in the Great Hall again that afternoon, even though he'd waded through a long morning of all those memories floating in the tea-saucer of his consciousness. Because Draco was ridiculously ahead in this game, and he had never given up easily to Slytherin.

"Will you look at that," Ron cheered. "It's Harry Potter, returned to the Great Hall for like, the fourth or fifth time this year!"

Harry glared at Ron. He'd been trying to sneak up on Draco, and now Draco spun around and looked at him intently. 

"I eat breakfast here almost every morning," Harry said, which was a slight exaggeration of the facts. "Just because the rest of you are still sleeping when I come down there to eat--"

Draco frowned and Harry knew his lie wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny. Draco saw how late Harry left their room some mornings, rushing straight to one of his Defense classes.

"Either way," Hermione interrupted. "It's good to have you with us. We were just arguing about whether we should follow my revision schedule for the next month, or Pansy's."

Pansy sighed. "I don't have a schedule for revision, Hermione, I just wanted a break," she sighed. "I'm stressed out of my mind about the NEWTs."

"It's the weekend, Hermione," Harry said. "We should all do something fun."

Hermione opened her mouth like she was going to protest, then sighed. She wasn’t going to argue with him. She was too worried about him to do that. 

"You got an idea, mate?"

Harry should have come up with an idea before he opened his mouth, and now he felt really foolish. If it was just him and Draco, he could have suggested another Quidditch game, but Hermione wouldn't enjoy that. Half the group would probably like to play chess long into the night, but the idea made his eyes cross with boredom. If he was going to spend his whole evening avoiding all the studying and work he had to do on his own, he certainly wasn't going to spend it losing at wizard chess.

"Let's sneak out of the school and go to Hogsmeade."

Draco shot Harry a nervous look, and Hermione opened her mouth to protest.

"Not for drinks!" Harry said, raising his hand. "I want to see if any of the secret passageways are open or could be opened again. We could update the map. And if all the ones we know about are gone, we could find a new one."

Pansy frowned. "But we're all of age. No one would stop us if we wanted to go to Hogsmeade. We leave the castle to go to court--"

Harry waved away Pansy's protest. "I know we could just walk out the front gates if we wanted to. But this'll be more fun."

He pushed aside his worry at the idea of any of the first years finding a secret passageway that would lead them to Hogsmeade without anyone knowing about it. And the guilt over how dangerous it probably was to leave any secret ways into Hogwarts open. This was just for fun, a chance to explore. And if he wasn't mistaken, it was just the right level of sneaking and figuring to please Draco.

Ron looked delighted. "Yes. Merlin, yes. This is exactly what being an eighth year is all about. Got to leave a lasting legacy at the school, that's what I say."

"Oh fine," Hermione said. "We'll have to go up to the room to get the map. And I don't suppose you expect all of us to fit under the cloak together, Harry. I hope you have a better idea for how we're going to avoid notice."

But Harry's brain was firing now, and he grinned. "I'll tell them I'm figuring out the Defense Against the Dark Arts final. I've already determined it's going to take place all over the castle. I'll need to look in all sorts of secret locations to make it work."

Draco's eyes narrowed. “Just what is this map you're talking about?”

Harry couldn't wait to show him. 

*** *** ***

In fact, as Harry pulled the treasures out, the five of them crowded into one corner of the eighth year common room so no one would see what they were doing, he wondered why he hadn't shared the map or the cloak with Draco before. The invisibility cloak was too big for all of them to hide under together, but it would do okay for two people.

Draco was far more interested in the map, which at the moment was just a ratty piece of blank parchment. "Is this an imaginary map, Potter? Some game the three of you made up when you were small and had nothing better to do?"

Harry laughed. "Tap the map with your wand and say 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'"

Draco shot him a look. "Are you trying to lure me into something, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Of course I am." He felt itchily impatient and couldn't wait to see the look on Draco's face when he understood the map. "Just do it."

Draco kept his eyes suspiciously fixed on Harry as he tapped the map. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

The familiar scrawls appeared, blooming from the center of the map and spreading to the border. With a pang, Harry wondered which of the Marauders had the beautiful handwriting. Probably Moony. It was too late to ask.

Draco peered closer, leaning his head to look at the map, and Pansy's dark hair bent down to meet his. They both looked up with twin outraged expressions. "What is this?" Pansy gasped at the same time that Draco growled. "How long have you had this?"

Harry grinned. He'd expected this silly triumph, and he felt it. "Ever since third year. I used it to keep an eye on you all the time, Draco."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Did he ever."

Draco shook his head slowly, marveling. "This is--well if you had this in third year, how come you didn't figure out when Sirius Black was at the school? How come you didn't notice that the first Mad-Eye was actually that Death--the Crouch boy. Why didn't you use it to--"

“I didn't spend all my time looking at it," Harry frowned, snatching the map away. 

He didn't say how much more time he'd spent looking at it when he was away, how much time he'd spent watching people's dots, knowing that meant life, hoping it meant safety.

"And that's beside the point," Hermione said, generously. "If we're going to find a secret passage that works, we'd better get to it."

Draco tugged the corner of the map towards him, and Harry smiled, studying the expression on Draco's face instead of looking at the map himself. This was so much better a way to know that someone was alive and probably safe.

"These are the passages that you've used, then?" Draco tapped the dotted lines that led away from the Whomping Willow in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. "That was when we ran into each other up there, and you beat me back to the school?" 

"This one, actually," Harry corrected, tapping the passage that started near the Defense Classroom. Draco didn't bring up the memory with any particular bitterness, but Harry wondered if they'd ever get to the end of recasting all the moments they'd been on different sides.

"Look," Hermione whispered. "The Room of Requirement is plotted now."

Harry looked at the space, which was labeled  _ Eighth Year Dormitories. " _ There must be some bit of magic that lets it keep adding as the castle changes," Harry mused. "It can add new people every year."

"This passage must have been the way you got in last May," Draco mused, pointing to the passage leading out of the room where they were standing. 

"How'd you know that?" Ron asked, eyes sharp.

Draco shrugged. "Everything else in Hogsmeade was shut up, and the Hog's Head is run by a Dumbledore. It was a stupid oversight," he took a ragged breath and looked to Pansy to ground himself. Of course he wouldn't look to Harry to reassure him, not when he was talking about what the Death Eaters should have done differently, but Harry still felt a sharp claw of jealousy catch in him.

"Which one are we going to try, then?" Ron said, clapping his hands together in a way that made Draco and Hermione flinch.

Harry thought of the different possible passages and felt a sharp surge of panic, as if he was suddenly negotiating a minefield of memories. Where would they end up: Snape's face turning paler and paler as he died, alone as he'd lived? A blue eye and a silent sister?

"Let's try the path to Honeydukes," he suggested breathlessly, and no one protested.

"You ought to put on the cloak," Ron suggested, "Just for old time's sake."

Ron was probably as eager to show off to Draco and Pansy as he was. Besides, after everything, the fact that he still had the cloak was comforting in ways he didn't know how to put into words. He drew it over him and didn't have to contain the superior grin that took over his face when Draco and Pansy's jaws dropped.

"I knew you _ had  _ an invisibility cloak," Draco pouted. "But I've never seen one this good. Or one that lasts this long."

It was one thing to show off about the cloak. It was another thing to explain that it was the only Deathly Hallow Harry had left. It was another thing to open the squirming can of worms that asked, in the end, what it meant to be Master of Death. That conversation could wait.

"How did you manage to get caught so many times if you had a map and this invisibility cloak?" Draco raged. "I was so mad that I was always two steps behind you, but no wonder!"

Harry pressed his lips together in irritation and whipped the cloak off so Draco could see it. "I guess that gives you some sense of how much trouble we all got up to, doesn’t it?"

But then, because Draco was looking at the cloak with hungry eyes, he let Draco try it on, which of course meant that Draco tried to sneak around and take the map from Harry's pocket, and then Hermione huffed that if they were ever going to get to Hogsmeade, they needed to go now.

It also meant that Harry didn't see much of Draco, except when the other three slid into the passage. Draco pulled Harry under the cloak with him, and, grinning, pressed his lips to Harry's. "You've had this all this time and we've been sneaking around in broom cupboards?"

"I thought you liked sneaking."

Draco obviously did like sneaking, because when their first path was blocked by solid stone and strong warding magic, he insisted that they try one of the other routes. "I bet the one to the Hog's Head is still open. If people got through on the day of the final battle, no one would have prioritized shutting it up."

He was right, and they made it all the way to the Hog's Head before Harry realized that the portrait hanging in the bar had been turned around to face the wall. 

"I bet he's moved it into the cellar and put a cask on top, too," Ron mused, rapping his fingers sharply against the frame. "Just to keep the Hogwarts students out."

"But where's Ariana?" She hadn't been anywhere in the passageway, and Harry didn't think Aberforth would want his sister disappearing from her frame. 

"Maybe she's visiting another portrait?" Hermione suggested. "This one isn't very nice right now, pressed up against the wall like this." She sent out a flurry of spells, some of which were enough to make the frame pound against the wall. 

And It must have been sufficient to irritate the owner, because in a moment the portrait had been turned to reveal the blue-eyes and displeased expression of Aberforth Dumbledore. "Please tell me that you haven't caused another nasty mess and come looking to me for help."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said, trying to swallow his laughter. Aberforth was so Aberforth, ahe last time he'd been here he'd been so terrified, and this time everything was at peace.

"Then you've just come through for alcohol? I told the Finnegan boy that next time he could walk through town and buy his drinks like every other wizard of age. Tired of having him just pop out of the wall on me."

Ron snapped his fingers. "That's how Seamus has been getting the alcohol.”

"This tunnel is for serious business, and I don't want my sister's portrait getting disturbed."

Harry knew the question would probably irritate the old man, but he couldn't stop himself from asking "Where is Ariana? We didn't see her anywhere in the passageway." 

Aberforth snorted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to a small frame that showed two figures. "Ever since I had that painting of Albus put up, can't get her to stay in her own picture. Listen, if you students keep treating this tunnel like a lark, I'll remind McGonagall that all the reinforcements made their way up to the castle somehow."

"Don't do that," Ron said quickly. "We'll get out of your hair. Just--do you think we could come back this way?"

Aberforth threw up his hands, including one holding a glass and half an inch of dark, swirling liquid, which splashed across the bar. "You're fully grown wizards. Aren't you on the faculty, boy? Why do you need to sneak in and out of the school?"

Harry drew his eyebrows together and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Sorry sir, can't go into details. It's top secret Auror-type business."

He and Ron only just managed to get out the door before they both dissolved in laughter.

"That might be the main reason to join the Aurors next year," Ron said, satisfied.

Harry felt around in the air. "Draco? Did you make it out?"

Something soft and squelchy collided with the back of his head, and Harry spun around, putting one hand up to feel the damage.

"Draco Malfoy! Did you just throw mud at my hair? I will find you! I know all the ways to find someone in the cloak."

Draco, finally unable to contain all his laughter, started running. He was tall enough that his shoes and the hem of his robes flashed into sight when he was running, and Harry took off after him, full tilt, dodging between the villagers who seemed to come out in force when the students were safely locked away in the castle.

When Harry caught up with Draco, he peeled the cloak back and tossed it to Pansy.

"Not fair," Draco pouted.

"Yes fair," Harry grinned. "You threw mud at me. Plus I want to actually see you."

Draco tried to keep his little pout in place, but Harry saw the way his face lit up, slow and surprised. Why should Draco be surprised that Harry wanted to see him? He thought they'd gotten that all cleared already. He wondered if this was a moment that he could take Draco's hand or sling an arm around him. But if Draco had wanted to be invisible, walking hand-in-hand with Harry would only draw more attention. And then Draco slipped his hand into Harry's, and Harry didn't have to wonder anymore. 

*** *** *** 

Later, when they'd walked through the stores and Harry had spent too much money on silly prizes he could give to his classes for the kids who got the highest scores on the quizzes (once he finally marked them) and pestered Aberforth into letting them back through the secret tunnel, Harry tugged the cloak over him and Draco and called a goodbye to the rest of the group.

Hermione and Ron waved cheerfully in the wrong direction, their faces glowing. It was only April, but Ron might have gotten a bit of a sunburn from all their time in the sunlight that day.

This was the way he'd pictured the two of them looking at the end of everything. When they won. When they had a chance to be happy. But of course no had looked like this just at the end of everything. There had been tears and embracing but everyone had been covered with dirt and blood. 

It had taken this long for them to look like he'd pictured their happy ending should be. Some secret ingredient had been missing in their expressions every time until now, and Harry had the guilty feeling that they'd been waiting to be really happy until he was okay.

"Gross," Pansy said. She actually seemed to know where Harry and Draco were standing, and had ideas about what they might get up to under the cloak. "And goodnight." 

Draco squeezed his hand.

"Did you have fun today?" Harry didn't really need to ask the question. Harry was feeling really clever. He'd thought of something different than Quidditch or studying together or Draco listening to him complain about the first years classes again. He'd thought of something sneaky and magical, and Draco had loved it.

"I suppose it was alright," Draco said. "Especially the part where I got to pelt you with mud." Harry looked at him. They were both still standing under the invisibility cloak, so he could see Draco's face. And since they were both under the cloak, his face was very close. Harry thought about kissing him.

"Race you back to the room?" Harry gave Draco the best suggestive smirk he could manage. "I got a bunch of sugar quills at the sweet shop,."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You and your sugar quills."

"Beat me back to the room and I'll let you watch while I eat them."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teaching is hard, especially when you haven't dealt with your own trauma. 
> 
> *Sort of sorry that there's a lot more teaching than Draco in this chapter, but, uh... have some Lacey?

The wastebasket was on fire, and Harry wasn't even the one to notice.

"Professor Potter?" Sam called. "The bin is burning."

Harry whirled around, heart pounding, wand at the ready.

After the chaos of the previous week, he'd thought it was a good idea to have more lessons where kids stayed in their seats instead of roving around the room. All they were supposed to do today was read a chapter in their book and answer a few simple questions.

So there was no excuse for the column of flame rising from the wastebasket in the corner, clawing toward the portraits and hangings on the nearby wall. 

Harry raised his wand hand and pointed it at the fire. Distantly, he saw that the tip of his wand was moving, and wondered why, and then realized that he was shaking. 

_ The Room of Hidden Things, the broomsticks and the furious faces in the flames. Crabbe, reaching and missing. Draco's hand, already hot and dry in his own. The sounds, the loud hungry rumbling of spelled fire, the scent of everything melting. _

"Professor?" Sam's voice was quiet and persistent, and Harry shook his wand, as if that would clear his mind and make a spell.

"He's testing us," Lacey said. "We should know a spell for this."

"Augamenti," another student said quickly. "If we all try it, we ought to be able to put out the fire.”

They moved quickly, gathering around the fire, which was leaping higher, igniting a few of the posters and reaching making a bid for the door.

"Augamenti," Lacey shouted, and a powerful splash of water came from her wand. It wasn't enough on its own, but the other students followed her lead like a well-oiled machine. Even Hariot hurried over and added a thin jet of water from his wand tip. 

By the time the class was done congratulating themselves, Harry had slipped his wand back into his pocket and straightened out his robes.

Draco had told him about how the whole group of first years had worked together when Lacey nearly transformed into an Obscurial. They'd done magic above their year then, and it had been all the stronger because they did it together, and Harry had been touched.

This was such a little thing, but it was another sentence in the same language, a sentence that reminded him that even though somebody started a fire right there in the classroom where he should be in control, the students knew how to protect themselves.

And they'd had to protect themselves, because he couldn't. 

He'd seen fires more days than not since the fiendfyre. He saw it in his nightmares even when there wasn't a fire in the grate of the common room. He hadn't known that the sight of flames would make him freeze. He hadn't expected to be a danger to the students and himself, and it felt sharp. The disappointment. The disgust.

He knew what he should say now, he knew which professors he should channel in the moment. He thought of how Remus would respond. How Hagrid, who was apparently everybody's favorite teacher, had responded when bad things happened in his classes.

Harry opened his mouth to say "Well done," and instead he roared, "Every single one of you, back in your seats. Now."

The first years froze, shaken from their celebration by the tone of his voice.

"Was I unclear? I said to sit down. Now." His voice was as angry and reaching as the flames. 

They scurried. Like ants. Even Devon Hariot and his little crew that liked to drag their feet about everything.They were hustling now.

"Who started that fire?" he snapped. Whose voice was he speaking with? It was too low and loud and dangerous to belong to him. No. That was wrong. This was the voice he'd come at McGonagall with when they'd spoken about Lacey. When he'd felt so powerless. When he’d needed to remind her that he was someone to listen to. 

"This isn't a game," Harry went on. "None of this is a damn game. Do any of you understand that?"

Sam sat up straighter. "We put out the fire, Professor Potter."

"After someone in this room started it. Why? Because they thought it would be fun to see how long they could get away with it? Because they wanted to see how many people they could hurt? Because they wanted to see just how much I'd let them get away with before I hit my limit? Well congratulations, Mister Hariot. You found my limit. You're done."

Devon Hariot's head jerked up, eyes round and worried. "But Professor, I didn't--"

"I. Said. You're. Done. Take your things and get out of my classroom."

Harry turned away before he could think about how Hariot's fingers were shaking while he tried to scoop up his quills and books. He kept his back turned until the door slammed.

"I won't have anybody in here endangering their classmates." Harry tried to make his voice low and quiet this time. Not so angry, but still sure. None of the kids had made a noise. This had to be the longest they'd ever been silent. Most of them, when Harry turned to face them, were staring at him with wide eyes and tight mouths. Only two of the students wore different expressions. Lacey was looking at her book, blinking rapidly, and Sam was glaring daggers in Harry's direction. When he dismissed the class, most of them quietly fumbled their books and quills into their bags, but not Sam. 

“Come on, Lacey. Let’s get out of here.” They shepherded Lacey through the doors before anyone else could exit.

Harry sank onto his desk. The mind-healer had probably told him what to do, but he couldn’t think of it. Something about the Occlumency. Notice the thoughts. All the thoughts that came too fast, and too sharp, and made him react before he had time to think, before he had time to do anything right. 

Harry lowered his head onto the wood surface of the desk. No one came in here and taught right after him, which he'd relied on since the beginning of the year. Now it would let the smoke dissipate.

Thought: Kids would owl home about how there had been a fire in their class. Kids would talk. McGonagall would know that he'd let that happen.

Thought: He'd sounded like Snape. He'd sounded exactly like Snape, shouting at the class when they were so proud of what they’d done.

Thought: As soon as Harry was afraid that they wouldn't respect him or hear his voice, he started to sound exactly like Snape. 

Thought: Draco wasn't coming to find him now. Nor Hermione and Ron. They all had classes now. Draco wouldn’t know to come find him.

Thought: Harry had just thrown a kid out of his class. A kid who was a prat most of the time. A kid who was afraid of being bad. A kid he thought he'd been getting somewhere with.

"Professor Potter?"

Harry jerked his head up, shocked. Sam was standing in the doorway, still looking like they wanted to fight. Harry couldn't blame them.

"Hello," Harry said, rather stupidly. "Do you want to come in?"

"I don't know if I do," Sam was still frowning. "Are you going to shout at me more?"

"I'm not," Harry rubbed his forehead. "I was worried about all of you. Putting classmates in danger isn't a joke. I reacted. Badly."

"I just came to tell you that Devon Hariot didn't start the fire. I don't like him, but I don't think he should be in trouble for something he didn't do."

Harry frowned. He trusted that Sam was telling the truth. Sam had no reason to lie for Hariot. 

And if Sam was telling the truth--the thought caused a sick twist in Harry's stomach. Something bad had happened in his class, and Harry had reacted on instinct. He'd assumed it was Hariot without asking any questions.

"It's not fair for you to kick him out of class."

"Who started the fire, then?"

Sam shifted, and their chin came up, a portrait of defiance. "I can't tell you that, Professor."

That was enough for Harry to make a good guess. 

Harry swore under his breath, and Sam looked at him sharply. Perfect. How else could Harry disappoint and disillusion his students today? “You’re right, Sam. I made a mistake, and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.” Harry closed his mouth to keep from putting more on Sam. 

“You’ll fix it, Professor.” Sam sounded so sure, and Harry wondered at that small magic: after all the shouting, Sam still trusted him. 

*** *** *** 

Harry had every intention of going to find Lacey before the day was out, but first he had to banish the charred mess in the wastebasket and clean the walls. He expected everyone in the castle would hear about the fire, but he didn’t have to leave evidence of it etched on the wall for the next Defense class to see. 

He stowed his wand and took a step back to inspect the work, and the door creaked open enough for a small, blonde head to peek inside. 

"Lacey?"

Lacey's eyes went huge, like she was surprised. But she shouldn't be--she must have come here to find him.

"Mr. Potter, I have to tell you something." She nudged the door open the rest of the way and gulped. "Devon Hariot wasn't the one who started the fire. I was. You can't get him in trouble. I'm the one who should be kicked out of Defense class. I'm the one who's a danger to my classmates."

"Thank you for telling me, Lacey."

She stood there, fists clenched at her sides and eyes blazing with determination, and nodded.

"I can't say I'm surprised to be having this conversation."

"Because you already knew I was dangerous."

"I figured out that you started the fire. But that's not why I expected to see you here. I know you're brave. You wouldn't let someone else take the blame for what you did, even if he's a--even if he's not very nice to your friends sometimes."

Lacey nodded. Her eyes were so serious. 

"You reacted quickly. You got everybody to work together to put it out."

She looked down. "I lied. I said you made it up for a test for us."

"What happened? Were you thinking of something that made you angry, or did something in the reading--"

Her face tilted back up, revealing a fierce expression. “I started the fire on purpose. I wanted to see if I could do it. I didn't realize that it would work so well. It was a test in that way, I guess. I've been testing myself to see what I can do."

Harry tried to be careful with his face. He tried to keep his voice calm. "What kinds of things are you testing, Lacey?"

"Things we don't try to do in class because we're busy turning worms into pasta. I want to know what magic can do. And that's what this class is supposed to be for, right? Just, some of the things I have to protect myself from aren't going to show up on the dark detectors.” She swallowed. “Although a lot of them do."

Harry thought of the sharp outline of her parents in the foe-glass, such a present danger even when she was here in the castle. And even sharper and clearer, Lacey herself. 

"I just need to know that I can protect myself and my sisters. I shouldn't have started a fire with everyone here, and I understand what you said. You can't have people putting the class in danger."

"You know I have to do something about this."

Lacey gave a small, tight nod. "If you have to drop me from the class, I understand. I promise I never wanted to hurt anyone."

This was the worst part of being a professor, probably. Harry wanted to pretend they’d fixed things, but he knew that wasn't true. "Kicking you out of the class won't help anyone, Lacey. We have to talk to Professor McGonagall. I can't let you go back to your family, not if you feel the way you do. Not if you're preparing to protect yourself for the summer."

Lacey's eyes narrowed.. "But--you can't--even after she knew I'd nearly turned into an Obscurial, she hasn't changed anything. She said I would go home this summer. Why would anything else convince her?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "An Obscurial will seem like nothing when Ron and Hermione get through with her."

*** *** *** 

Hermione tucked her bookmark into her book and looked up at Harry as if he was being an interruption. He might have understood a bit better if they'd been in the library, but it was dinner, and he was in the Great Hall. Shouldn't she be glad to see him?

"Sit down and go through it once more."

Harry sat. There was a plate in front of him, and a cup, and so many choices of food and drink. He picked up a roll and put it on his plate.

"Today was awful and I was awful, but I finally got McGonagall to schedule a meeting with Lacey Ketteridge so we can talk about this summer. It's three weeks from now, and I'm really hoping that's enough time for the Wizarding Legal Dream Team to put together a case to convince everyone to keep Lacey from going home."

He turned to Draco. "And, because today was horrible and I'm horrible, I could use some help setting things right with Devon Hariot."

Draco swallowed a large bite of potato. "Stop picking your roll into pieces and eat it. Here. Butter. And have some pumpkin juice or something. It will probably make you more pleasant. What happened between you and Hariot?"

Harry sighed. "I yelled at him and kicked him out of class."

"He probably deserved it. He's sort of a prat." Draco didn’t wait for Harry to pour his own pumpkin juice. He took Harry's goblet and filled it, as if Harry was a small child who couldn't be trusted to pour things for himself. 

Harry looked darkly into the juice. "He didn't deserve it today."

Draco glanced over to where Devon Hariot was sitting. "Oh look, the Gryffindor table is glaring at us. Brings back memories. Go tell him that you're sorry you lost your temper and whatever else, and then come back and eat the rest of dinner with us while Hermione talks non-stop about magical law and Mug--non-magical families."

Harry took a deep, steadying sip of the pumpkin juice. It was so sweet. Merlin, why didn't he just eat more sugar? That was probably the key to ninety percent of his moodiness. Also something steadying, and a little sweet: Draco remembering not to call people Muggles. He knew that Pansy and Draco didn't really get it. He wasn't sure Ron even understood. But Hermione said that calling people Muggles only made it seem more like people who did magic and people who didn't were more different than they really were. So Draco caught himself now, instead of waiting for anyone else to make him stop. 

Words were magic. Which was something he was relying on if he wanted to get Devon Hariot to ever trust him again. He walked across the Great Hall, feeling every eye in the place following him. The Gryffindors at the table he was approaching looked at each other, suddenly buzzing.

"Hello, Hariot. Can I sit here?"

Devon Hariot shrugged. "You're a professor. I suppose you can sit anywhere in the school you want."

Well, this was going smoothly.

Harry sat and looked across the table at Hariot, who seemed focused on shoveling spoonfuls of gravy into his mouth. 

"I know I don't tell stories about the war often. But I'm going to tell one right now, if you don't mind." As soon as he spoke, all the Gryffindors sitting within earshot quieted, and some of them even leaned closer to hear. He already regretted starting this conversation in the Great Hall. "When Ron, Hermione, and I made it back to Hogwarts last May, we didn't have much time before Voldemort arrived, and we were looking for the final Horcrux."

He'd told the first years about Horcruxes. This was just another one of the many reasons that McGonagall would have never offered him a position if she had ever actually been to his classes.

"In the space where the eighth years live now was this room where people could hide things. That was where we found one of the Horcruxes. It was also where we ran into Draco and two of his best friends. They started a Fiendfyre. Most of us escaped, but one of Draco's friends died in the fire."

"I get it," Hariot said darkly. "Fire's not a game. I'm a danger to my classmates and you don't want me around."

Harry gulped another breath of air. He wondered if it would be fair to start drinking the pumpkin juice from this table, too.

"That's not the point. I've seen lots of fire since that day, but this time it scared me. It made me freeze up, and afterwards I realized that I'd let the whole class down. I hadn't defended you all the way I thought I should. I got really angry."

Hariot took a severe bite of a roll.

"I know that you didn't start the fire. I made a snap judgement out of fear. It wasn't right, and it harmed you. I'm sorry."

Devon Hariot eyed Harry warily, and Harry didn't blame him. 

"I hope you can forgive me," Harry said. "But either way, I apologize for seeing bad in you that wasn't there." He nodded, stood, and made his exit before the whole table started in with questions about his story. 

He couldn't expect Devon to forgive him in the moment, but he hoped by the time their class met again, some things would be right. Besides, Draco had wanted Harry to return, and he hadn't finished his pumpkin juice. 

And Draco had been exactly right about how the rest of the meal would go. Hermione started listing the books they'd have to find, and Ron started spitballing other cases, jotting notes on a spare scrap of parchment. 

Harry listened to the soft pattern of their voices, sometimes crescendoing as they argued a point or dropping into urgent whispers. He finished his pumpkin juice and even accepted seconds when Draco offered.


	9. Chapter Nine

Devon Hariot was still testy with him in classes, but Harry did his best to smooth things over. He returned graded essays to the first-years and got his own Transfiguration work on time. He made it to most of his own classes. He thought he was doing relatively well at keeping everything afloat, but Hermione caught him sneaking back to the Defense classroom after dinner one evening. 

“Aren’t you going to study with us tonight?”

Harry froze. He’d agreed to study with them earlier, but he never actually got anything done when he was in the library. He fumbled for an excuse. 

"If you don't study, Draco's less likely to come study with us because he's off somewhere, pining after you, and he needs to get good NEWTS, even if you don't."

"Has he heard back from any of the apothecaries he wrote?" The second the question came from Harry's mouth, he felt very silly for asking Hermione about the status of his own boyfriend's career search. 

She scowled at him. "He's gotten  _ responses, _ Harry. Haven't you talked to him about any of this?"

"Do you want me to talk to him about it right now?" Harry said. "Instead of studying for Potions?"

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, and it was so much more of a Harry gesture that he felt guilt, like he was somehow passing his stress to her. "I can't believe the two of you haven't--Harry, he got two Howlers that said they'd never take Death Eater scum on. There were a few rejection letters that weren't quite as bad, just that business ‘was cultivating a different image’ or ‘not hiring at this juncture.’ No one else bothered to write back. Haven’t you noticed how worried he is about the exams?"

Harry  _ had  _ noticed how studious Draco had been. Especially when it came to potions. Draco had fallen asleep twice the previous week at his desk, revising his notes, and when Harry had come in late to go to bed, he'd still been there, his so-soft white hair shining in the lamplight and the print of the book leaving small dark lines on his cheeks .

Hermione was right, as usual. Harry needed to show up to these study sessions. It was the only way he could help. It would be harder for people to turn Draco down if he could offer the highest scores. Maybe people wouldn't be able to say no to his excellence the way they were able to say no to his history.

So when the rest of the group joined them in the Library, Harry had the best of intentions about studying. But his mind kept straying to ways he could really help--and probably make Draco mad at him. He wondered if George could use Draco’s excellent potions-making abilities for the joke shop. It had been so long since he talked to George. 

Even through the stained-glass windows of the library, he could see that the bright moon shining down on a warm night. Ron and Hermione had disappeared into the stacks fifteen minutes ago. As hard as it was to distract Hermione from studying, Ron had managed it. 

Harry was just starting to feel really annoyed at them. They acted like he was never around, but when he tried to be where they were, they left to pursue “other interests.” He should probably be grateful that they hadn't wanted so much time on their own last year when the three of them were sharing a tent. 

_ Focus _ , he told himself.  _ NEWTS coming. Revise _ . He forced his gaze back toward the table, only to catch Draco staring at him, a pleased and vacant smile on his lips. 

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco flushed, scrambling to make it seem like he'd been looking at his notes.

Harry's resolve to study vanished. Even the irritation at Ron and Hermione seemed more distant. 

Draco kept his eyes on his page. "Do you want to go--find somewhere else to be?"

"Somewhere else to be?" Harry repeated, grinning. He _ hadn't  _ dedicated a lot of time to imagining what it was like to date Draco Malfoy, but when the thought had crossed his mind, he'd sort of thought that Draco would be incredibly suave and cool. Or that he'd be sort of chilly, and the other person would have to work to get Draco's attention. It was fun and weirdly flattering to watch Draco fumbling to say what he was trying to say, still staring at his book and getting redder and redder around the collar.

"Somewhere more private?" Draco suggested. He snuck a glance at Harry's face, and his expression dimmed. "But since you clearly find that a laughable idea, we can stay and cover antidotes."

"No," Harry couldn't help it, the word slipped out with a laugh. "No, let me check the map. I think there's a remote alcove on the fourth floor that we haven't explored yet."

Draco shrugged. "Only if you want to. I mean, I do need to finish--"

"Come on, you prat," Harry said, sweeping books and quills toward his bag.

Draco gave an impatient flick of his wand and the rest of their books, scrolls, and quills sorted themselves neatly away. He looked up at Harry, and his expression was bright again, his eyes eager. 

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and made a dash for the doors, startling a little gasp out of Draco. 

Harry kept expecting Draco to get used to him. He thought that once Draco caught Harry, he’d get tired of him, or realize that he was too much work and return him to the wild. Or that he’d feel entitled, and order Harry around like one of his flunkies. 

He didn't understand why he kept catching these surprised expressions on Draco's face every time Harry said yes to something, but Merlin was it fun.

*** *** *** 

Healer Goodnight’s earrings looked exactly like tiny broccoli plants today. Harry stared at them one dangling from her left ear. Maybe she was actually getting her earrings from Luna. Maybe Xenophilius had decided to develop a line of--

"Harry? Are you with me?"

Harry closed his eyes. Right. He hadn't come to stare at earrings. "I want to talk about what I'm going to do next year."

Because, if they could at least dig through this exceptionally confusing question of his future, maybe he could get some sleep. Because, if he steered their conversation this way, he could handle it. There would be fewer awkward pauses. Less of him scrambling around the emptiness inside himself. 

"Has this question been on your mind a lot?"

Harry nodded. Robards had sent another friendly owl inquiring about Harry's intentions this week. "Hermione, Ron, and I all got offers to come on as Aurors. We'd have to go through training, of course, but we're guaranteed a spot in the academy. Kingsley Shacklebolt said he could use us in other Ministry jobs, too. It’s not as if he told us to name our position, not exactly, but he made it clear that any department we fancied would have something for us."

Healer Goodnight had a pretty good poker face, but this time, she seemed properly impressed. "Minister Shacklebolt must think very highly of the three of you."

Maybe he did. He'd been part of the Order, he'd known about some of the specific things that Harry and his friends had done. But the Ministry had always been interested in appearances. "I think Shacklebolt knows his business. And I think he knows how it will look to get the three of us on staff."

Healer Goodnight inclined her head. "There are probably a lot of Wizarding families that would feel safer knowing that you're working in the Ministry.”

Exactly. But Harry's stomach still flipped over at the thought. "The Ministry had a price on my head at this time last year. I know Voldemort had taken over, and I know that the staff has changed a lot--" But he couldn't imagine getting into an elevator side-by-side with someone who'd been there last year, following orders. Orders that could have gotten everyone that mattered to Harry killed. Orders that  _ had _ caused death. 

Umbridge was gone, and all of the Death Eaters Harry knew about, but the Ministry had been full of people who carried out the orders of Voldemort. Powerful people who could plead that they'd been Imperiused or threatened. People who might be trying to make good in the new world, like Draco. It was a lot easier for Harry to find excuses for Draco. Harry knew Draco, knew how hard he was trying to do better. And Draco was a good kisser, which didn’t hurt.

"McGonagall offered me a position on staff at Hogwarts. She's desperate for living people who aren't, you know, evil, but I'm pretty sure that after this week, that's right out."

"Why is that?"

Harry felt shame rise in his throat. "I went off on the students. I acted like the kind of professor I hated, the kind that let people get hurt."

"Can you tell me more about that?"

So Harry did. He noticed how tight and cold his voice sounded as he told the story, and he assumed she did, too. She was paid to notice that kind of thing.

"You're really upset that you lost your temper at the students."

"Of course I am."

"Because it reminded you of the teachers who hurt people?"

Harry closed his eyes.  _ I must not tell lies. _ "I don't want to be like that. If I don't take the position, I don't know who will, and maybe they'll be worse. But it would be even worse if I became the person who hurt them.”

There was a long silence, and Harry had the feeling that Healer Goodnight wasn't sure what to ask. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to tell Healer Goodnight about how Snape had always been unfair and cruel to his students, but was surprised to find himself telling about Umbridge instead. How she made him write the lines until they were a part of him. 

"How did people react when she did that to you?"

"I didn't tell anyone. I knew it wouldn't do any good. Ron and Hermione found out eventually."

Goodnight's lips twisted, a second instance of stronger emotions than Harry was used to seeing on her face. "One of your professors was physically abusing you, and you didn't believe that telling anyone would help. I'm sorry you learned that people at the school wouldn’t protect you."

This wasn't supposed to be the conversation today, or ever. He thought that she would ask about his family at some point. And that would be fine. He could talk about how hung up he was over his dead parents, how hard it was to lose Sirius. But he had never wanted to talk about--"They sent me back to the Dursley's every year."

Harry watched her face. He had never been an expert on what other people were thinking, but he was starting to tell when she was calculating, and when she was having a hard time adding things up. 

"My aunt and uncle. And my cousin. I grew up with them. Maybe you knew that. I hate talking about it. I hate thinking about it." Which was why he'd said he wanted to talk about careers. He'd come in with a plan. "Dumbledore--it was part of his plan to keep me safe from Voldemort that I had to keep going back there, but they hated me. It varied from year to year how they treated me, but the hate never changed."

Goodnight tilted her head, and the broccoli earrings swung back and forth. "What do you think of Hogwarts sending you back to live with them?"

"Well, it's rubbish, isn't it?" Harry snapped. "They thought they knew how best to keep me safe, but they never listened to me. They never even asked if I was okay. Even when they knew that something was wrong. As if muggles--I mean non-magic folk-- could never be dangeroust. As if Voldemort was the only threat that mattered."

She nodded. "And you don’t want to let your students down like that."

"Of course not," Harry said, his fingers curling in on themselves, changing around his wand. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Because even if I can keep myself from turning into a monster, I can't protect them from everything out there. I know that at least one of my students is going home to people who are her enemies, and I can't do anything about it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to do everything right, everything, and then realize at the end of it all that you're still powerless?"

Healer Goodnight closed her eyes, and he saw jaw work as she swallowed. 

"Whatever you're thinking, just say it. I don't want to be lied to."

"I was thinking, Harry, that at the end of every session, I send you home with yourself. I do that for all the people I see. No matter what we work on or talk about in the hour that I see them, at the end of it, I don't have any real control over the way they speak to themselves, or the people they spend their time with, or the care they take. I don't--well, no one's lived the way you have, Harry. But I've lost people too. People I thought that I could save. Power just doesn't work that way."

Harry was silent.

"Thank you. You're sharing your thoughts with me. And I would encourage you, this week, to think about who else you share your thoughts with. The Pensieve is a great tool, and I'm always happy to hear your thoughts. But you have other people in your life that want to hear from you."

Harry stumbled through the floo and back into the Hogwarts hospital wing. So much for getting his career sorted.

*** *** *** 

He was still feeling untethered when he made it to the Great Hall for lunch. It seemed louder than it usually did, if that was even possible, and when Harry made it to his usual table, Draco was too busy scribbling away on a piece of parchment to look up and greet him. Harry sat and realized that Draco was humming one line of "Weasley is our King" over and over as he squinted at the words on his page.

"What are you doing?"

Draco looked up, a little startled.

"Oh," he gasped. "Didn't you hear? Weasley-girl has gotten recruited by the Holyhead Harpies."

"After that game, they'd be fools not to ask her!" Ron proclaimed, gesturing with a full cup and splashing its contents onto Pansy's plate. "Just a shame the Cannons didn't ask her first."

Oh. That was what all the noise was about. He'd sort of known that he was missing a Quidditch game. He'd meant to go to more of those to support Gryffindor. To cheer for Ginny, and Peaks, and...

"Gryffindor won, then?" he said.

"Of course they did," Draco said, waving his hand as if that was the only way things ever worked out. "And Ginny had a stunning game, so I'm working out another verse to Weasley is our King."

Harry winced, wondering if he was going to have to break up a fight in the next moments, but Ron laughed. "He asked Ginny if he should change the lyric to 'Weasley is our Queen, and she said she fancied being the King."

"Easier to rhyme, anyway," Draco mumbled. 

Harry craned his neck to get a closer look at what Draco was writing. "Wow. I didn't realize you put so much thought into these things."

Pansy cackled. "Potter, you have no idea how much time and energy Draco's put into getting under your skin. He never skimps out on this kind of thing."

"But this isn't a mean song, is it?" Harry asked, suddenly wondering if Draco and Ginny had some kind of rival thing going on behind his back.

"Of course not. Ginny and I get on fine now. At least, I think we do." He hesitated, as if he was considering whether Ginny was likely to feel the same way. "And I want tickets to the Harpy games. It's just---the song is right there, and it's always been catchy, I figured we should put it to work for her.” He pushed the parchment to the middle of the table. "Well? I know the first verse is a bit similar to the original, but why meddle with something that works?"

_ Weasley can spot anything _

_ She'll outfly anyone you bring _

_ That's why Holyhead all sings _

_ Weasley is our King _

_ Weasley was born for the skies _

_ She's got sharp wits and sharper eyes _

_ Thanks to her we'll get the prize _

_ Weasley is our King _

Harry felt a strong urge to laugh. Pansy was entirely right. Harry had never really thought of how hard Draco worked at all the things he did to bother Harry and his friends. He didn't know if it made Harry more annoyed with him or more pleased that they'd somehow managed to end up like this. "This is great, Draco. Have you shown it to Ginny yet?"

Draco's cheeks went slightly pink. "No, I mean, she's excellent, I just--"

Harry wondered if he needed to feel jealous. Instead of making him feel upset, this also made him want to laugh. "How come you haven't written me a song?"

"Oh," Pansy perked up and leaned across Draco to get direct access to Harry. "You never heard all the limericks he made up about you? I think I still remember most of--"

"Pansy!" Draco's face had gone rather pale. "Please stop trying to destroy everything."

Pansy settled back, but when Draco was distracted with re-writing some bit of the song, she clearly mouthed "Later" to Harry.

Harry took a swig of pumpkin juice. This was good. He'd felt so hollow when he'd finished with his counseling appointment today, it should be impossible to feel this good right now. Of course, it wasn't every day that Ginny won a big Quidditch match and got recruited by the Harpies, or that Draco was looking for approval for his bizarre hobby of song-writing. It wasn't every day that Harry was able to eat a whole plate of curried chicken without thinking about how every bite felt in his mouth.

But the Great Hall was open every day, and he could always come down here and find people to be with, and maybe Healer Goodnight was right about the things that he could share.

*** *** ***

"Potter. If I could have a word?"

Harry stopped short. McGonagall was standing in the corridor. She looked ill.

"What's the matter, Professor?"

"Alone, if you would, Potter."

Harry had a feeling she wouldn't have asked for privacy if he'd been walking with Ron or Hermione. But it was Draco at his side. Harry turned to tell Draco that he'd see him in Potions and caught the mutinous set of Draco's chin.

"Professor, unless it's really confidential, you can say whatever it is to both of us. I trust Draco."

McGonagall's thin lips pressed together. "I would like to reschedule our discussion of Lacey Ketteridge's future plans. The Board of Governors has been putting a great deal of pressure on me about next year's staffing, and I need to dedicate my time to--"

"But you've got the holidays to figure out who will take on classes next year," Harry frowned. "Did they pester Dumbledore about this all the time?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Headmistress McGonagall isn't Dumbledore, Harry."

"Well spotted, but I don't see what that has to do with this."

"He's exactly right," McGonagall frowned, giving Draco a second glance. "If I was Albus Dumbledore, we would not be having this conversation. He was given a great deal of leeway in his staffing decisions and the way he governed the school. Due to recent events and my relative newness at the position, they are taking a rather different view of things."

"I can't move the date. Hermione and Ron have been preparing, and they've got confirmation from two of the ministry officials who work in related areas that they're going to come. I can't just call it off three days out."

McGonagall pressed her fingers to her temples for a minute, then nodded curtly. "I can see the sense in that. I suppose I shall find other hours in my day. Although I must say it would not go unappreciated if you chose to announce your career choice so I could give up on you and go back to worrying about the Defense position."

She swept away, her shoulders held back by some miraculous force of will. 

Harry slumped. "When will everything stop feeling like an emergency?" 

He felt Draco's eyes on him, concerned, probably. There wasn't an answer to that question, and it wasn't Draco's job to make up something cheery. 

Harry took a steadying breath and lifted his shoulders. If McGonagall could keep her head high, he could manage something close to that. "Let's get to Potions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100,000 thanks to the readers, especially everyone who has left comments and kudos. Life is such an interesting mess right now. 
> 
> Also welcome to my ongoing internal struggle about teaching, projected onto Harry.


	10. Chapter Ten

Harry woke up in the soft darkness of the middle of the night. He was used to not sleeping through the night--he couldn't remember the last time he had slept a whole night without startling awake. But this time his finger's weren't vice-locked around the blankets. His heart wasn't racing. He half-remembered a noise, but not the sounds screaming in his own mind. Something real, and small, and muffled.

There it was again. A fluttering breath that was just too sharp to be right. He grabbed his wand and wordlessly cast a glow across the room.

The curtains around Draco's bed were still warded and closed, but the sound was unmistakably coming from there. Harry slipped out of bed and padded across the room, drawing aside the curtains of Draco's bed only to find himself faced with the business end of Draco's wand.

The look in Draco's eyes was familiar in a way that sent a jolt of pain through Harry. These were sixth-year eyes. Desperate, trapped eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco said quickly, lowering his wand and flopping back onto his pillows. "Just a ni-nightmare. Go back to sleep."

"You're not going to let me off that easy, are you?" Harry said, opening the bed hangings a little wider. "Not after all the times this year that I've interrupted your sleep with nightmares and I wouldn't let you go back to sleep until you comforted me?"

"Oh yes." Draco leveraged himself up so on his elbows so he could glare at Harry properly. "I'm sure it was very comforting when I kept telling you to shut up and let me sleep."

Harry didn't say exactly how comforting it had been all those times to hear Draco's voice, acerbic and alive. "Are you going to budge over, or do you just want me to hover over your bed like this?"

Draco sighed and slithered toward the other side of his bed. "You're a nuisance, Harry. What if I just wanted to have a cry on my own?"

Why was this so much easier to do when the room was dark, and Harry could only see the glowing parts of Draco's face? "You can have a cry on your own with me here. Or if you want, we could talk."

It was quiet for so long that Harry thought Draco was just going to ignore him. He knew Draco was nowhere near sleep--Harry could feel the tension coming from his side of the bed, and he hadn't lied down properly since Harry had crawled in. But Harry was tired, and he was starting to drift off himself when Draco spoke. "At the beginning of the year, everything was awful. I didn't think it could get any worse. But then we started dating."

Harry wished he hadn't gotten into bed. There was no way to get out of the situation delicately now. He tried for a laugh. "That's really--"

"Oh Merlin, that sounded really awful. I didn't mean it to sound that way."

"I'd like to hear how you spin this to not sound completely terrible."

Draco let out a shaky breath. "I was hopeless like a sickness. I felt ill with it all the time. I didn't think anything was going to change. Everything was terrible, but at least I didn't worry. I felt like everything was as bad as it could possibly get."

"And then it got worse?"

"And then I got these chances that I don't deserve. Before you, even, when Hermione and Ron started talking to me and got my magic back. I don't even know why they did any of that, so I keep checking, over and over, making sure it's the real Ron and the real Hermione, and my real magic. I walk around every day double checking things, but fine. For some reason, I got a bunch of goodness from the world that I didn't deserve. And then you--you're what makes it unbelievable. It's not a game anymore, Potter. I know this can't go on like this, and I just. Don't. Want. To. Go. Back."

Harry sat up, somewhere in the middle of Draco pouring all of this out, and now he was staring into the darkness next to him. He should cast some sort of spell so that Draco's words wouldn't carry into the rest of the room, only he couldn't even think of the words for that right now.

There were tears in Draco's voice again, and his eyes, and Harry wanted to fix it, but how did he fix this without empty words that Draco would see right through?

"The nightmares are terrible," Draco said. "Of course they are, but it's when I wake up that I don't know how to tell what's real and what's fake."

"I'm here, Draco. We're both awake and here. The hard things are real. The best things are real."

Draco nodded, and Harry was so sure that this was one of the moments when he should do something. First of all, he should know what to do. He shouldn't have to think this hard about it. And then Draco leaned shuffled around in the bed and lay down with his head pillowed on Harry's shoulder. Harry took a deep breath, thinking about how he should say something, and Draco said. "Don't. This is fine."

Harry let out the breath that had been holding his chest so still, and Draco relaxed into him. He hadn’t expected Draco to be the one who was comfortable with touching. He hadn't even realized that he was going to be the one who had such a hard time with this, not even after how badly he fouled up everything with Cho or ran away from Ginny as soon as she meant anything. He remembered when he thought that he needed Hermione to translate how girl's minds worked, but it turned out it had nothing to do with girls. He was just pants at emotions and honesty. _ I must not tell lies.  _ It didn't mean he knew how to say the true things. 

Draco's breaths eased. Harry wasn't sure that he was sleeping, but at least he wasn't on the verge of tears anymore. That was something right, at least. 

*** *** ***

When Harry made it to McGonagall's office on the day of Lacey's meeting, it was already crowded. He didn't miss the look she gave him, but he was on time. He'd been in this office under some pretty harrowing circumstances before, so he wasn't sure why the quiet murmuring between the Ministry witches and the shuffling papers in Ron's hands made him feel so sick. 

"Glad you could join us, Mister Potter." McGonagall had managed to clear almost all of the parchments and piles off her desk. Harry wondered if it was for this meeting or interviews with potential professors. 

Hermione and Ron stood directly across from her desk, even though she had provided chairs for both of them, and Lacey was in a chair to their right. It was squashy and comfortable, but far too large for her, so that Lacey had to sit at the edge of the cushion or her feet would dangle. 

Harry registered the first dull glow of anger. She was small, but they didn't have to make her feel smaller. She was young and nearly powerless in all of this, but he didn't want her to feel that way. He offered what he hoped was an encouraging look as he sat, but she was staring at her hands and gave no sign that she noticed his arrival. 

Draco strode into the room a moment after he settled in, and the room fell silent when he took his seat. Harry had been surprised when Draco insisted that he'd be at Lacey's meeting too, but that was unfair. Draco had shown as much concern about Lacey as Harry had, and he was the one who had come to her rescue with the Obscurial. 

One of the ministry witches cleared her throat, and Harry flinched. "I am Athena Tremons from the Misuse of Magic Office," she introduced herself brusquely. "And this is my counterpart, Yvonne Greengrass from the Department of Magical Accidents."

"The Misuse of Magic office?" Harry didn't give Hermione or Ron a chance to hush him. "Who misused magic? What magical accident are we talking about?"

"That is precisely what I wish to know, Mister Potter," Tremons said, helping herself to a corner of the Headmistresses desk to drop an untidy pile of documents. "No one at the ministry seems to have any record of this situation. Although Shacklebolt and Robards send their regrets that they weren't able to see to things personally."

Harry thought he heard a scoff from Draco.

"They eagerly await your owls regarding your plans for next year, etcetera."

Hermione pressed her lips together, and Ron piped up, "That's not what you came to discuss, and Harry's right. Isn't there some department for the welfare of magical children?"

"We generally leave that matter to Hogwarts. Traditionally, Albus Dumbledore was more than adequate at seeing to the needs of his students. Forcing the ministry to step in like this is highly unusual." Tremons’s eyes turned on McGonagall, in case anyone missed her implication. 

McGonagall remained sitting, but suddenly her back was so straight that she seemed a foot taller. "Be that as it may, we have a student who needs our help. And while I am aware that the Ministry is accustomed to pretending that everything is fine until it is too late to address the problem, Hogwarts  _ traditionally  _ attempts to respond before things have reached the emergency stage. Now, Lacey, would you like to explain the situation?"

Lacey looked up from her curled, white-knuckled fists, shocked at being asked to speak. "I get to say what I think?"

Tremons frowned, but before she could say anything, McGonagall nodded. "We want to hear from you."

"Professor Potter thinks I shouldn't go home to my family just because they show up in my foe-glass and I've been practicing ways to make sure I can defend myself. But that's not fair. I've left my little sisters at home with my parents all this year, and I can't even write to them because my parents don't like the owls, and I've got to go home and make sure that they're taken care of. Gerrie's only four, but I think she could be a witch, and if Mum and Dad find out, I need to be there. Besides, I only partially turned into an Obscurial last time, and I bet I could stop myself again."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. Clearly they'd been planning on telling that story themselves, but it was too late for that now, and the impatient expression on Tremon's face had disappeared.

"I'm sorry," Yvonne Greengrass breathed. Her eyes were saucer-wide. "Did you say Obscurial?"

Lacey's hands squeezed harder in her lap, and Harry wondered, for a moment, if they'd have a repeat of the incident right here and now, but then he saw her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. She had control. She'd told them the truth, at least as much as she could. 

Lacey had gotten good at sorting her thoughts and calming her emotions. When she was surrounded by the first years who wouldn't leave her side even when things were scary, she was able to fight back. But there was a difference between showing courage when you had a surplus of love and managing when there was a deficit, and Harry didn't want her forced into that kind of accounting. 

'You can't have--the girl is an Obscurial?"

They'd never kept it a secret from Lacey what was happening to her when she transformed. Of course it was terrible, but she had to know. And they hadn't told her that she should keep it a secret from other people, either. It wasn’t exactly possible to keep it a secret, since so many of the first years had seen her, and rumors were what they were at Hogwarts. But Lacey would have no way of knowing how hush-hush it was in the rest of the wizard community. He wondered if anyone had ever  _ admitted _ to being an Obscurial before.

"It's a good thing you finally decided to inform us of this," Tremons snapped. "The very idea. This girl is a danger."

Harry's face felt like stone. He should speak up, he should tell this witch exactly what she could do with her opinions, but he couldn't even seem to move his mouth. This was the last thing that Lacey needed to hear. Didn't they know what enemies she was facing? Didn't they understand how many times their words would re-play in Lacey's head? He managed to separate his jaws and move his tongue. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say, but--Hermione gave him a tiny but emphatic shake of the head. 

Draco leaned over and breathed. "You asked Hermione and Ron to help for a reason, Harry. Let them speak."

Ron regrouped. "The possibility for transformation is exactly why she needs to be a ward of Hogwarts school this summer and until such time as her non-magical family members show a thorough understanding of how to raise a witch in a loving environment. Miss Ketteridge has proven completely capable of resisting and controlling transformations when surrounded by support from her peers and professors. None of the people here assembled, nor any of the bodies we represent, have any desire to see what will happen if Miss Ketteridge, and indeed any of her siblings who show magical skill, are not adequately cared for."

"What do you mean," Greengrass continued in her quiet, awed voice, "resisting and controlling her transformations?"

Ron must have realized how hard his next statement would be to believe, because he hesitated. "Lacey Ketteridge stopped mid-transformation by casting a Patronus charm."

The awe of it struck Harry afresh as he saw the disbelief rise on the Ministry officials' face.

"You are telling us stories." Tremons's face collapsed into a scowl, which she directed at McGonagall. "If you think the Ministry has nothing better to do than listen to outright lies--"

Harry saw Lacey's movement, but everyone else seemed surprised when she drew back, closed her eyes, and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

It was a good thing she practiced a lot, Harry thought. The ministry witches weren't Dementors, but this little conference was still plenty soul-sucking. But Lacey _ had  _ practiced. She'd cast in the most difficult of circumstances, and this was nothing. Lacey's foal Patronus burst from the tip of her wand and loped casually around the room, looking for a threat.

Tremon's jaw dropped, and Greengrass whispered, "Bloody hell."

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly very nervous about where this conversation was going.

"We've never seen magic like this from a first year," Tremons snapped. "And this girl is Muggle-born?"

"Professor Potter says that we shouldn't call people Muggles," Lacey said, frowning. She waved her wand again, and her Patronus dissipated.

Both the ministry officials looked completely confused by this suggestion, and Harry shifted again. His knee was bouncing. When had that started? It made him look like a child. He pressed his heel into the floor. 

"Well. Obviously, I see the danger in setting this unusually strong young witch free with Muggles for the summer." Tremons scribbled something on one of her scrolls. 

Harry's stomach dropped. "You're not concerned that she'd have to spend two whole months with the family that turned her into an Obscurial in the first--"

Ron cleared his throat. "In light of everything that the Wizarding community has endured in the past years, we've got to figure out a better system for taking care of any kid with magical blood that doesn't have a supportive home to return to. While Hogwarts will fully support measures that nurture magical children, this is a legal matter beyond the scope of the school. The Ministry must take responsibility."

Tremons pressed the tip of her quill into the parchment so hard it tore through. "Right. The Muggles are going to love it when we go around taking their children from them. You have no idea the work the Ministry has to do behind the scenes to make sure all the Muggle-born students even have a chance to go to Hogwarts. Now you're suggesting we tell them that they have to hand their kids over to us permanently because we don't like how they're being raised?"

"I suggest we do it for any child who is unsafe when they leave Hogwarts." Hermione's voice was calm and cold. "Non-magical communities do it. If a child is unsafe in their own home, the child is removed. And if the ministry won't help us, we will find the appropriate non-magical officials to step in. We thought you might like an opportunity to intervene before we did so. The Ministry does seem to like having a say in such things."

Tremons looked like she was going to keep up her tirade, but Greengrass spoke first. "This is all very--complicated. But in this particular case, if the Ministry is able to handle the Muggle family so the girl doesn't have to go home, who will be the girl's ward? Is there a staff member at Hogwarts willing to take responsibility?"

There was a beat of silence, and Harry's heart thumped. They should have had a plan for this earlier. 

'We'll find someone," Ron promised. 

"I think not. If we're going to suggest that an unusually powerful sometime-Obscurial is staying at Hogwarts, we need to know who will be in charge."

They were staring at McGonagall, and she was staring at Harry. He'd interrupted plenty, but now his throat felt like it was closing. She was waiting for him to accept the position. To say that he'd be working at Hogwarts next year, and as such, he would take responsibility for Lacey. He imagined it. Imagined the shocked looks on Tremon's and Greengrass's faces. imagined telling them that Robards and Shacklebolt could stuff it, because he was staying here, with Lacey. He imagined Lacey's reaction. She was still mad at him, but she'd come around.

It was the right thing to do. It was so clearly the next thing that he had to do. He'd gotten good at spotting the next move, and this was it--this was his sign that he was meant to stay.

But he couldn't get his mouth to open. He couldn't get sound to happen. The ministry would probably buy it, but that didn't mean he'd be any good at looking after Lacey. Just because they thought he could do the impossible didn't mean he'd be able to figure out how to keep a kid safe. He'd never seen what that was actually supposed to look like.

Draco leaned forward in his chair. "I have a proposal."

Harry looked at him, panicked. What was Draco going to say?

"The difficult thing about requiring Lacey to be a ward of a faculty member of Hogwarts is that the faculty is several people short at the moment. Everyone employed by the school is more busy than usual, and might find taking on even such an excellent and talented young witch as Miss Ketteridge difficult to imagine. Which is why I'm offering to join the Hogwarts staff and take responsibility for Lacey."

Lacey's head jerked over to stare at Draco, and there was no mistaking the stunned hope in her eyes. Harry knew that feeling. It was the moment when Sirius had invited Harry to live with him. 

McGonagall spluttered. "That's a very forward offer, Mister Malfoy, considering that I don't have a position--"

"You have several unfilled positions. If the track record of the school is anything to go off, anybody can teach Defense. Why not me? Harry and several of the students in his first year class will attest to my abilities as a teacher. It would certainly help Hogwarts to repair the breach by showing their faith in the many old Wizarding families. I'm confident the Board of Governors can confirm this." He gave a small, tight smile, and stood. "Since that's all I intended to contribute to this conversation, I'm going to excuse myself. Please let me know when you've reached a decision."

He stood and passed behind Lacey's chair, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder for a moment before he strode out the door. Harry followed his progress, still trying to catch up with what just happened.

When the door shut behind him, Ron swore quietly under his breath, but Harry could tell it was a sound of admiration rather than despair.

"Well," Hermione turned forward, putting an effort into rearranging the surprise on her face. "We have a volunteer who could be on staff at Hogwarts and ensure Lacey's care over the summer."

A lot of muttering and arguing followed. Hermione and Ron were parrying blow after legal blow, but Harry had lost the thread. What exactly was Draco playing at? Had he somehow just bargained his way into a job, using Lacey as a gambling chip? He couldn't figure out if he was angry because Draco hadn't told him, or because Draco had just made a bid for the job Harry had been offered, or if he was only furious because he'd been frozen with indecision in the very moment he needed to speak up for Lacey.

Lacey's voice startled Harry from his thoughts. She was sitting on the very edge of her cushion so she could plant both feet on the ground, and her arms were crossed, one hand still wrapped around her wand from when she cast her Patronus. "I want to say something else. You're talking about Mr. Malfoy and whether I'd be safe with him. And I'm going to say again that as long as my sisters are with my parents, I'm going to fight to get back there. You can't keep me here. But that has nothing to do with whether or not Mr. Malfoy is a good teacher or if I feel safe with him, because he is, and I do."

McGonagall eyed the clock above the door and stood. "It seems we have a great deal more to think about. I refuse to make any rushed decisions because of Mister Malfoy's flare for the dramatics. I suggest you two return to the Ministry and have a good long discussion about how you view children living in difficult situations as threats to security. I will be in correspondence when I have further information to share with you."

Tremons stood and gathered her paperwork, grumbling under her breath, and Greengrass followed her through the door. Harry could hear them in the passageway outside. "That was a very foolish stunt, Mister Malfoy. The last thing the Ministry will allow is a known muggle-persecutor--"

The door swung shut, and Harry once again found himself turning around to see the expression on McGonagall's face. She sat, heavily. "I've said it before, and I imagine I'll have other causes to say it in the future. Why is it always you three? Miss Ketteridge, you may go. I will send you a message as soon as we know more, and I'm sorry to keep you in suspense."

Lacey stood.

"And Miss Ketteridge, You've been very brave."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat silently, expecting a lecture the moment the doors closed behind Lacey, but McGonagall kept surveying them silently.

"Sorry, Professor," Ron said suddenly. "We didn't mean for the Ministry to start--"

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I suppose I should have dedicated more time to Miss Ketteridge's unusual circumstances when they first became apparent." She turned her look on Ron. "I've received several comments from the Wizengamot regarding the strength of your representation. Miss Granger, your involvement does not surprise me, but Mister Weasley, I was impressed."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Well, Hermione's been letting me take the lead in our arguments since I said--well, I think I've decided on doing this."

Harry fought not to look stunned. He'd thought they'd all been more or less on the same page. He thought that none of them had given their answer to the Ministry yet because none of them  _ knew _ their answer yet. Why hadn't Ron told him that he'd decided to continue on with Magical Law?

Ron shot a quick look at Harry. "I haven't--I haven't really told people yet because it seems really odd, you know? I don't think any of us figured I'd go this way. But it's sort of like chess, isn't it? Figuring out which pieces you have and which are in the strongest position, and how the other person's going to try to move. Hermione said she thinks I can manage it even when she--"

Hermione interrupted. "Of course. Everyone can see that you're perfectly capable of arguing your own cases."

McGonagall's eyes misted over as she nodded. "I know Molly will be terribly proud when you tell her. All of you have grown so much. Of course, students move on from Hogwarts every year, but rarely--well. This is a special case. I'm proud of all three of you."

Hermione swiped at her own eyes, and even Ron's eyes were distinctly bright, but whatever they were feeling was dimmed for Harry. Ron had a plan for next year, and it wasn't becoming an Auror. Maybe if Harry had taken the lead, if he’d known that was what he wanted and told Ron to come along, he would have. Maybe not.

And, Harry thought dully, it sounded like Hermione and Ron had talked about what Hermione was doing next year, too. Well they would have. They did everything together. They were this unstoppable team. He'd seen this coming for years, distantly, with dread in his stomach. It had been nice that they'd put it off for the little matter of defeating Voldemort, but they were well and truly past him now.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall said. She was giving him a hard look, as though she'd said his name several times now. "I asked if you were pleased with Mister Malfoy's play for employment at the end."

Harry swallowed. "Look, I have to go. You mentioned how busy you were today, I'd hate to keep you when you've got other stuff to take care of."

And with that, he stood and rushed from the room. Hermione and Ron excused themselves and hurried after him, but Harry wasn't paying any attention to them at the moment. No. Draco was still waiting where he had been minutes ago, leaning casually against the passageway just outside McGonagall's office. 

Hermione and Ron approached Malfoy like they wanted to re-hash his offer to take Lacey, but one look at Harry's face, and Hermione decided to tug Ron away, throwing nervous glances at Harry and Draco over her shoulder.

"Well," Draco said, looking up at Harry without bothering to move from the wall. "Did you lot get everything sorted?"

"Maybe we would have," Harry snarled. "If you hadn't opened your mouth and made the Ministry think that anybody's allowed to wander in and become staff of Hogwarts."

Harrys saw the brief flicker of surprise in Malfoy's eyes before he blinked it away with annoyance. "Got it. It's my fault the ministry thinks that McGonagall's got no control over the staffing situation."

"Why didn't you tell me that you were going to pull that?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "I'm sorry, was that a condition of our relationship? That I tell you everything I'm ever going to do before doing it?"

Harry felt his face going red, mostly from anger. Draco knew just how to play innocent and make Harry feel like his reaction was out of proportion. But Harry was furious. He couldn't go on snapping at Mcgonagall, and Draco was right there. "You made me look like a fool, not even knowing that you were going to angle for the exact job that the Headmistress has been offering to me. It looks like you don't think I can do it."

Draco was quiet. His head turned away, and he looked at McGonagall's closed door. "Interesting that you should see it that way, Potter. I rather thought it would look like I was the fool for thinking that I could talk myself into a position at the school, but I had the naive idea that I would seem like a fool who cared for our student."

Harry glared at him. "Because that's the appearance that suits you at the moment? Because that's what's going to advance the great and glorious cause of Draco Malfoy?"

"If you mean that's what'll keep me off the streets, maybe so, Potter. I don't understand why you're shouting at me. You certainly weren't speaking up about how you were going to take her."

In a second, Harry's wand was in his hand, and he was pointing it at Draco. He barely bit down before sending some stupid curse Draco's direction, but only barely. His hands buzzed with fury.

Draco shook his head, slowly. "Go ahead and hex me if you want, Potter. If you're just going to stand there pointing at me, I'm going to catch up with Ron and Hermione for lunch, and you can go sulk, like you always do."

With that, Draco turned on his heel and marched away for the Great Hall. Harry watched him going, feeling a growing sense of alarm. It had been one thing knowing that Ron and Hermione had become a team that closed him out. But now Draco was more a part of that team than Harry. Draco felt like he could go off to lunch, and Harry would disappear.

"No," Harry shouted, astonished at how loud and childish his voice sounded. "I'm going to the Great Hall. I'm going to sit with Ron and Hermione. And Pansy." So there. He could take Draco's friends, too.

Draco studied his face, his jaw clenched. Harry couldn't read the expression, but after a moment, he nodded sharply. "You have a good lunch. Owl me if you decide to stop being a git."

*** *** ***

It was the worst lunch of the year. When Harry walked in without Draco, the other three wanted to know where he was, and Harry had not wanted to tell them that he'd thrown a temper tantrum and insisted that he should get to sit with their friends instead of Draco.

"We had a row," he muttered, staring at the empty surface of his plate.

"About what he said in the meeting?" Hermione said. "Oh, Harry, you know he's not trying to take your job. I imagine he's starting to feel nervous."

Harry could feel Pansy's eyes drilling into him, and he went through the motions of filling up his plate. "He never told me what he was going to do. Then again, I guess no one owes me that. Everybody can just go off next year and do whatever they're going to do and--"

"Harry," Ron said, sounding pained. "I hadn't told anyone except 'Mione that I want to make a go of it in law. I told you I was thinking about it."

He had, way back before Hagrid's case. And Harry had seen how good Ron was at it. He could understand why Ron had chosen what he did. It still stung.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Besides. All these conversations about next year always cause people to get upset."

Harry had a feeling that he was people.

Hermione pressed on. "But I have been thinking that I'll give the Ministry my answer soon. I'm just waiting to see what they decide about Lacey's case first, because if they muck this up I don't know if I'll be able to stand going to work for them."

Harry felt a surge of affection for Hermione, even if he did still feel cross with everyone.

"I don't know if they'll go for my terms, though. I'll be asking them to completely restructure the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures office. Can you believe that's even what they call it? No wonder none of the other intelligent beings want anything to do with it."

"So you're going to re-name it before you go to work there?"

"I'll only work for the department if they agree to call it something else. I've written up a list of demands. Although after today, I wonder if I shouldn't scrap the whole thing and insist on some department that actually sees to the needs of magical children. I mean, the Misuse of Magic office? Really."

"Since we're all making announcements about jobs," Pansy interrupted, swirling her goblet in one hand, "I thought I'd say I got an offer."

At least she wasn't glaring at him now.

"Madame Malkins. I--well, it's not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but I figure I can get a good start there."

"The Department of Magical Beings will have a position open for you in a few years if I have anything to say about it," Hermione said.

Pansy smiled. Harry had never felt like he understood Pansy well, but if he had to guess, the smile seemed forced. It was a happiness-will-come smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy September 1st/Return to Hogwarts! I really wanted to post today to celebrate, but I'm hoping to post again tomorrow, thereby making this a bonus/beginning of the school year celebration.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since yesterday's chapter was a back-to-school bonus, here's your semi-regularly-scheduled update!  
> More drama + shenanigans in the Defense office.

Harry meant to go up to his room and owl Draco that he had decided to quit being a git. He wasn't actually over it, yet, but Draco staying mad at him was awful, and he had been the one who banished Draco from sitting with their friends. So, yes. He could write something conciliatory, and Draco would forgive him, and everything would be fine again. 

But then Draco was already in the room when Harry barged through the door. 

"Oh. You're back. Here to apologize?"

That was exactly what Harry intended to do, but instead when he opened his mouth, what came out was, "Why didn't you tell me you were going to ask McGonagall for a job?"

"I would have told you if you'd ever asked." 

Harry wondered when he'd last gotten a dose of Draco's anger like today. His fingers twitched for his wand, and Draco didn't miss the motion. 

He laughed. "What are you going to cast, Potter? Riddikulus, to get rid of the nightmare? Or Expelliarmus, so you can take back my wand? Or have you picked up some new hexes to try out on me?

"Stop. I'm not--what do you mean I never asked? You got all touchy any time I brought up next year."

"Of course I did. You can't possibly know how it feels that I've already mucked up my prospects forever. I'm touchy about it. I hate talking about it. That doesn't mean I want you to leave me on my own to figure it out."

"I could have helped you."

"You could have. But you didn't. So thanks very much, Potter."

Harry's hands were so twitchy. He had to do something with them so they'd stop reacting like this, drawing Draco's distrustful looks.

"I don't understand what I did wrong. I thought it was better to not bring it up after you stormed off on me."

"That happened one time! You gave up after one try. I know you, Potter. I know you don't give up that easily on anything you actually care about."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. There were things--there were so many things that Harry had thought were impossible, but he had just done them anyway. He couldn't tell Draco why this was different because he didn't know the answer himself. 

Draco's arms were wrapped around himself now, less in defiance and more as a protective measure. "You don't touch me."

"What? Of course I do. I touch you all the time. And snog you, and--well, some other things as well, although not nearly as often as I'd like to."

Draco stuck out his chin. "You do, but only if I go after you first. I'm always the one who starts things. You give in or feel sorry for me and play along."

Harry blinked rapidly. That could not be right. There were so many times in a day when Harry thought about how he wanted to take Draco's hand, or pull Draco over to his side, or rest his head on Draco's shoulder. He always wanted to have some small part of him making contact with Draco. It was the best way he had of understanding what people really meant when they said attraction--it was that magnetic pull. 

But Draco was _right._ For every memory he could think of wanting to grab hold of Draco, there was a matching memory of telling himself no, that it wasn’t the right moment. That he would do it wrong and upset Draco. That he should keep his hands to himself.

"And I always have to pester you into doing things with me. And you give in, most of the time, but it's not equal, Harry. I knew from the start that I liked you more. I thought it wouldn't matter because I was so happy that you were giving me a chance. But it matters, because I feel so stupid all the time waiting and hoping that you're ever going to catch up to me."

Harry stared. He knew that there was something he should say or do now, but he couldn't think of what it was.

There were so many bad things that had been spinning through his mind all this year, but there had been the good things, like anchors. The things he could come back to. Ron and Hermione. Draco. And now one of those things, one of his favorite things, was falling all to shit because he didn't know how to do this properly.

"Don't. Please don’t say you want to end this." he heard himself saying. It sounded so stupid. Why was he begging Draco Malfoy to keep this alive when he was only making Draco miserable?

Draco's shoulders slumped. "I don't want to. But I don't want to go on feeling stupid. Everything else is such shit all the time. I don't have a clue how I’m going to make it through next year, and there are so many years in front of us, which should be a good thing but just feels terrifying. You are the thing I like best about my life, but I'm the only one who feels that way."

But he wasn't. Harry opened his mouth. Draco was telling him everything, there was no guessing wrong and mucking it up. He could just tell Draco that he did feel the same, but all the gears inside of him felt locked into place. Say words, Harry. Tell him something.

"I talked to Ginny," Draco said in a low voice. "I went and found Ginny and asked her what I was doing wrong, and do you know what she said?"

Harry did not now, nor did he ever, want to hear any part of this conversation between Ginny and Draco. 

"She told me I was doing the best I possibly could, considering. She wasn't even trying to be mean about it. She just knows that you're never going to have the same feelings about me that I do about you."

Harry let out a sound. Finally, progress. It was something between a groan and a huff, but still. Maybe he could make words eventually. Maybe he could explain.

"It's fine, Potter. You don't have to say anything. I'm just going to--I'm going outside."

*** *** *** 

Harry gave Draco a good head start before he found Ginny's dot on the map and tracked her down. She was sitting in the sun on the bank of the lake surrounded by friends. All of their faces were angled toward her, watching her gesture wildly as she finished her story. "Um, Gin?" he said. "Can I get a word?"

She looked up. "Sure. Oh. Did you mean privately? Ugh, Harry, you want me to get up?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. Luna and the quidditch players surrounding Ginny looked thoroughly annoyed that he was taking her away. As soon as they'd gotten out of earshot of Ginny's friends, he muttered. "I'm sorry, it's just--Draco."

"Harry," she sighed. "You are great, and I am so glad we are friends, but I really, really do not want to be counseling my ex-boyfriend's new boyfriend about how to get along with him. And I really, really do not want to be rehashing those conversations with my ex-boyfriend. Cheers."

"Wait. Ginny. Please. You told him that he was doing the best he could, under the circumstances?"

Ginny pressed her lips together. "First, I asked if he was doing that thing you like during sex."

"You what? Ginny, we never--you never--I never--"

Ginny laughed so hard she had to bend over to catch her breath. "Wow. Your reaction was even better than his. That's my tax for getting dragged into your mess."

In other circumstances, Harry might have found this funny. It was certainly very Ginny.

"Look, Harry. I just told him he's doing the best he can. It's what I did. Take you to the sunny places that you never think to go, kiss you so that you're happy and distracted for a few minutes. Try to balance out all the times when you're too lost in the thoughts that you won't share. Draco's doing the best he can, it's not his fault that you’re the way you are."

Harry felt like Ginny had slapped him. She was so calm about this, almost business-like, but his heart was thudding. "So I'm the problem?"

"Of course you're the problem," she said, and then, when she caught sight of the expression on his face, she softened. "No. You're not a problem, Harry. You're a good thing. It’s not your fault you’re the way you are, either. But at this point, you are the one responsible for sorting yourself out. And you already knew that.”

Harry swallowed. He knew Ginny didn’t pull any punches before he’d come to talk to her. He must have been looking for this kind of truth.

“I am sorry if Draco thought I meant he wasn’t doing a good enough job. He's much more fun to have around than I anticipated. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a story to finish, and you probably have some--I don't know, personal reflection to avoid?"

*** *** *** 

Dear Draco,

I'm sorry. I meant to apologize, and then I went on being terrible. I've been meaning to write you since the night that I got stuck in my thoughts and your owl reminded me that I had a better place to be: our bedroom, with a stack of sweets, and someone who likes me.

I am not avoiding you. Well, I am avoiding you some. But it's not because I don't want to be around you. It's hard to be around people, even the people I like best, when I'm so tired of being with myself. And you're right--I've made you be the brave one over and over again because I'm afraid I'll do something wrong. You think I like you less because of it, and I hate that. 

You said that it scares you, how much time is in front of us. It scares me too. Merlin, I thought I was done. I walked into the forest, and I thought, this is the measure of who I am: every decision I've made so far. Every action I've taken and everything I left undone, and then I died, and it was true. I was done. All the fight was over.

You said you're always double-checking that things are real, and I thought about how real you feel. How real you make me feel. Being with you doesn't feel like an escape to some fairy-tale world where everything is perfect. I don't want it to be. I like being with you because you're sharp and smart and you ground me.

I've gotten used to trusting very few people. People have left me. Some people betrayed me. Merlin, some _animals_ betrayed me. And I can't go on only trusting Ron and Hermione the whole rest of my life, but I don't know how to start trusting someone, even someone that I enjoy and I'm proud of and I always want to come to rest against.

This is really so stupid. I can see why you didn't send me all the thinking that you did to get to the point before, but you still had the courage to send me that bit that mattered most: I like you. I like being with you. I wish that you were here or I was there. Come find me.

Harry

Also attached, because Malfoy's Eagle owl could handle the weight and because Harry hoped Draco would want to use it: The Marauder's map.

*** *** ***

Harry started by sitting in the empty defense classroom, hoping that Malfoy would read his letter and find him on the map and come to be with him in real life. But sitting still was hard. Sitting turned into pacing,and then he walked to the back of the room, through the door that was always ominously ajar, and into the Defense office.

Harry was the only teacher using the Defense room that didn't have another real classroom with its own office. If he’d had time, he could have cleaned this out at the beginning of the year and used it all along. Maybe there would have been less instances of him frantically searching the dorms for lost student work. But the office had always seemed like such an overwhelming project.

He walked in, swinging the door open wide, and stared at the mess. When had it gotten this bad? Remus had packed up all his things into his trunk and left properly at the end of the year, but had anyone ever cleaned out all of Quirrell's things? When Lockhart was packed off to Saint Mungo's, had anyone gathered his personal effects? There were an overabundance of pink knick knacks lying around, and he'd already scavenged would-be Moody tools from the room. The really dark-looking bits and pieces in here might have been from a Carrow. But this was a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom--he supposed they could really be anybody's.

Clutching his wand in one hand, he waded in.

*** *** *** 

It was just typical of Draco to walk in on Harry when he was in the midst of losing a fight with a cursed quill. "Arresto momentum," he tried. "Reducto. Get _off_ me."

"Finite Incantatum."

The quill dropped to the ground, and Harry spun around to see Draco tucking his wand away. 

When Harry thanked Ron and Hermione for helping Draco with his case, he had definitely _not_ mentioned how hot he found it when Malfoy cast spells like this. Naturally, smoothly. Like breathing. It was different from the focused way that Hermione did magic, or the hopeful way that Ron tossed out spells. Draco's magic was impatient and taken-for-granted and entirely Draco. 

"What were you--" Draco broke off, trying and failing to keep from laughing. "Give me that quill, Potter, that's my new favorite thing."

"What?"

"Find a mirror," Malfoy grinned, snatching the quill off the floor and twisting it between his fingers. Harry looked in the foe-glass, because why not, and saw the words "git" and "prat" scrawled on his face, sometimes complete and sometimes in pieces, wherever he'd been able to smack the quill away quickly enough.

"Very funny," he muttered. "Of all the dark artifacts I thought I'd find back here--"

"This is hardly dark, Potter. Honestly, I bet one of those Weasley boys left it here as a joke when they were still at school."

The sharp edge of the words caught Harry, and he was hit with a memory of Fred and George leaving in a blaze of glory. But he couldn't deny that the pen was more mischief than evil. He put it into a pile on the desk of things that were safe enough to keep. 

"What are you trying to do here, Potter?" Draco asked. 

Harry looked around at the room, which was far more of a mess than it had been when he started. The piles had spilled out into the Defense room itself, which meant that Harry would actually have to clean it up tonight. Nobody was going to be pleased with him if they had to teach around piles of dangerous junk in the morning. 

"Tidying up your office for next year?" Draco pressed, and Harry realized that he'd never answered Draco's question. He'd sent him all that long letter and been hoping that Draco would come find him, and now he didn't know what to say.

"Or yours."

Draco snorted. "I didn't actually think that McGonagall would go for that. But it was worth giving it a go."

Harry wasn't sure he agreed. Hogwarts was in a sticky situation, and Draco had seen an opportunity. 

"I was waiting for you to come," Harry said. "And I got antsy."

Draco started laughing again, and Harry found himself smiling. This was possibly a very Harry thing to do while waiting to have some tense emotional conversation. Defense Against the Dark Piles of Unsorted Junk.

"I didn't even leave you stewing that long," Draco said, amused.

"I'm not a patient person," Harry shrugged. "It's one of my very few flaws. But. You got my letter."

"It was a good letter," Draco said slowly, wandering past Harry and trying to open one of the drawers. "It helps to know what you're thinking. I'd say I can't read minds, but I sort of can. I just don't."

Harry grimaced. "Please, because I still can't Occlude for shit."

Draco managed to get the drawer open, looked inside, and closed it again very quickly.

"What's in there?"

"A mess for later." Draco opened another drawer, this time with his wand at the ready.

"You can't just leave something dark and dangerous in the top drawer for someone else to come along and find, Draco."

"Can," Draco said. "Several other people must have done it before us. Those bones look really old."

Before Harry could worry any farther about whose bones were in the top drawer, Draco went on. "I never even imagined a future in which you and I ended up dating. I knew I liked you for a while."

Harry resisted the urge to push Draco on this point. He knew the exact moment that he had started liking Draco Malfoy: it had been the beginning of eighth year, and Draco and Neville had walked into the room when everyone else was winding down from their party. Draco had been more rumpled and sleepy than usual, and when someone handed him a glass, he didn't drink any of it. Harry had looked over at him and realized that after all the disgust and anger he'd held for Draco, after all the fear and pity he'd felt when Draco turned out out be a little bit useful and not-entirely-evil during the war, this was what was left. Ever-so-slightly rumpled Draco sitting with Pansy and Hermione on the couch, glowing in the firelight and looking like he was in the midst of a game and hadn't figured out the rules. And Harry had thought: Things could be different now. I want them to be different with him.

Of course, Harry had also been totally sloshed by that point.

There had been little hints, almost guilty mentions, that Draco had already liked Harry, and Harry wanted to know about it. But Draco already felt like he was the one who had fallen harder, and much as Harry wanted to know how long Draco had been waiting, he didn't want to do it while Draco still felt like they were in such different places.

Draco shot a spell into the drawer, then levitated a paralyzed spider into the wastebasket. "But I'm trying to imagine a future for myself, now. And I know that everything will always be tied to my past. I'm not trying to get out of that. I just want to build a future I can live with. And I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you over not helping. I can't build that future with you."

Harry must have looked stricken. His face must have been doing a thing, because Draco stumbled over his words.

"No, that's--I don't mean that I don't want you to be a part of that future. I mean I can't do the building with you, I have to do it myself to know that I can make this work. I don't want you to get me a job and then always feel like I owe you everything I'm ever able to achieve. I messed up, Merlin, I messed up, but I want to know that I'm still able to do something worth doing."

"And that's why you want to become a professor at Hogwarts." Harry tugged on the handle of a cupboard, but it didn't give, and he slid out his wand to sort it out. "Because it will make you look so impressive?"

There was a series of crashes and the sound of something ceramic breaking, and Harry looked over to see Draco frowning down at the debris that had fallen out of a cardboard box. "I know that you find everything Slytherin stands for disgusting." Draco's voice strained as he tried to keep it even. "But it's not about _looking_ impressive. It's about _being_ impressive. Or, if you will, worthwhile. I want to do things that matter, Potter." 

Harry gave another tug on the cupboard, but it didn't give. What good was being the boy savior when he couldn't even figure out the right incantation to open a stupid wooden box? He yanked again, as if that would change anything.

"I want people to remember the Malfoy name," Draco said, and before Harry could even think it, he rushed, "And not the way they do now. Is there something wrong with that? Is it so bad that I want to leave my own mark?"

Harry shot an un-sticking charm at the cupboard, and finally the door opened. The smell almost overpowered Harry. He wondered how much of being an Auror was sorting through dark lairs like this. He wondered how much of being a _professor_ was like this.

"Harry," Draco snapped, dropping a handful of broken teacup bits into the bin. "I can't believe I even came here. I am still trying so hard, and you're not giving me anything back."

Harry surveyed the tiny skeletons of Doxies that had collected at the bottom of the cupboard. "I'm thinking, Draco. You know I'm not the swiftest."

'I'm thinking too," Draco snapped, "But I'm actually letting you be part of it. I don't have answers, Harry, but all of this that I can, I'm trying to do with you. I can't keep trying to guess the password every time I want to get into your thoughts. Can't you just sit down and talk to me?"

That sounded impossible. Harry opened his mouth, forced his mouth to move. "That sounds impossible."

"It's magic. He can speak."

"I can't sit down and be still and try to think through this. It's too--" Harry waved his hands around in the air, still facing the cupboard. "It's too. And you wouldn't like my thoughts. I don't have things sorted out the way you do. You say one thing, and my mind goes off in seven different directions. I can't keep track of what I'm thinking or feeling, and it's a mess trying to share it with you."

"I know you're a mess, Harry. Newsflash: we're both a mess, and if you think you're good at hiding it, you're not."

Harry gave a short snort of a laugh. Maybe he wasn't good at hiding what a mess he was, but there were plenty of people who had overlooked it. He turned around, and he could see the fury building on Draco's face. Harry turned around properly to face him.

"I think you'd be a good teacher. You deserve the position."

Draco blinked, and the storm in his eyes was gone. "So you're not going to take it? I don't want to scare you away from the school. I don't actually want to fight you for the job. Not that I could win, if you wanted it"

"If we put it to a vote with the first years, you might be surprised how it turns out."

"Those kids love you, Harry."

"Right, that's why they--"

"Which one of us has seen into their brains? Devon Hariot can't stand you, but to most of the kids in your classes, you're not just the wizard that saved the world from Voldemort, you're the one who teaches them how to protect themselves and take care of their friends."

"But you are, too. You're the one who helps them face themselves."

Draco shrugged. "They like me, too. They trust me. I wouldn't have told McGonagall I thought I could do the job, otherwise."

Harry felt a wry smile slide into place on his face. "I think what you said was that anybody could do it, so why not you?"

"I didn't want to seem desperate."

"I shouldn't have reacted like I did," Harry said. "I know I'm not good at telling you things, and when you didn't tell me something, I acted like you'd slighted me personally."

Draco shrugged. "We probably could have made a better argument if I had told you about it beforehand. Besides, I feel entirely stupid for getting everyone off track that way, because it's really about Lacey."

Something about that made Harry's shoulders relax. When he talked to Hermione and Ron about the teaching job, it was about what he wanted, and what he'd be best at, and where he could make the most impact. Draco was the one who knew that all the big questions came down to names. Lacey. Sam. Devon. And all the names that weren't on his rosters yet. The real students that he'd love and fight with next year if he came back. 

"I guess we'll see what the Ministry says. Lacey's furious at me."

"You had to do it," Draco said.

"Merlin, I know. It feels awful. It feels like I broke her trust."

"You did what the adult in the situation had to do. What somebody should have done for you."

Harry looked at Draco and saw that Draco was looking back with a strained expression, uncertain how to proceed.

"Do you want to ask me something about it?" Harry asked. He sounded so tired. He didn't mean to sound so exhausted before Draco even asked. 

"No," Draco said, almost too quickly. "I don't want to interrogate you about it--it's just... I want you to know that it's okay for you to talk about it. I've been awful about your family in the past in a dozen different directions, and I get it if I'm the last person you'd want to....anyway." Draco turned away abruptly and picked up another shard of pottery.

"Dumbledore." The word was like tossing a penny into the fountain. The splashes, the ripples, the wish. "Dumbledore decided I should stay with my aunt and uncle. And my cousin. They hated me. And it's so hard--it's so hard when you're surrounded by people who hate you to find a way to get anyone to like you."

It wasn't what Harry had been expecting to say. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to say.

"Dudley--that's the cousin--he was my year at school. He made sure that everyone at school saw me just the way he did. The way his parents taught him to see me. Like a little freak."

This word came out like a splinter. It hurt on the exit.

"I got Dudley's leftovers on everything. Clothes. Food. A few toys he though were really dumb. And Petunia and Vernon--that's the aunt and uncle--what they cared about the most was being normal. You can imagine where that left me. I just tried--the only thing that mattered--the thing that I was always going for was to be invisible." Harry swallowed. There was probably something else to say. Some explanation of why that was making him so bad at everything. He needed to figure this out. Sort it. Explain himself.

And then there was a hand on his shoulders. "Harry."

"Everything that came afterward. All the excuses and the explanations, all the fake sounding blood magic. Do you know how much good that did me when I was six? Eight? Twelve? Of course I went home when Dumbledore asked me to. _Of course_ I did. It was for the Order. It was for him. It was what I had to do, and he knew I would do anything. He knew I would do anything he asked, and he asked me to keep going back there, and I may hate my Aunt and Uncle but I still--I loved Dumbledore. Even when he did that."

It was as if someone had cast Aguamenti at Harry's face. It was dry, and then suddenly it wasn't. Tears and snot were everywhere, and Harry felt only distantly aware that it must be because he was crying. 

Draco shut the cupboard deliberately and pressed his body between Harry and the closed door.

"This is probably really not the thing to say right now. But I would kill him for that."

Draco was right. His words lit up seven kinds of fears and defenses within Harry, but it was what Draco could offer. Had offered. Real. Draco was misty and smeared through Harry's vision, but there was no mistaking the rage.

"The Muggles. Your relatives. Where are they now? You don't want me to kill them, fine. There are other ways to make life intolerable."

"No," Harry said, and he took Draco's hand, gripping his wand so tightly that Harry thought something might snap. Either the bones or the wand itself, and either would be a pity. "Not you." He pried the wand from Draco's fingers and let it fall, taking hold of Draco's hand and trying to ease it out of a fist.

"You can't expect me not to do anything," Draco's voice was tight. He was holding back. All this rage and he was still holding back.

"You are doing something," Harry answered. He used his free sleeve to dry his face. "You said you'd take Lacey. When everyone was arguing and looking at one another, you said you'd take her."

Draco's jaw twitched, and Harry could see that he was getting ready to argue, to explain how that wasn't what he meant, that was not what he meant at all, and this was probably truly the wrong moment, but Harry moved Draco's hand from between them and used his other hand to tug Draco's head down, and lean forward, inches from his face.

"Now, Potter?" Draco breathed, and Harry could hear the disbelief matched by impatience.

Of course now. Why had Harry hesitated so long, making Draco always be the one to reach? He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Draco's. He had been planning to say something clever in the moment after he initiated the kiss about "Well, if you'd rather not--" or something, but he got distracted. Draco was very good at that.

*** *** ***

"Great," Draco surveyed the room. "Now it's who-knows-how-long after midnight, and I'm exhausted, and all of your pawing at me has made this room messier than when we started."

Harry laughed, looking around the room. They had run into a few stacks of things, and Harry had made a grand sweeping gesture and cleared everything off the desk with one motion so that they could climb on top of it, which had just made Draco roll his eyes and mutter about how many priceless artifacts Harry was trying to destroy in one night, exactly, before he climbed gamely onto the desk.

Harry grinned at him. "I can't believe we just got up to all of that in your future office."

Draco raised his eyebrow. "I can't believe we got up to all of that in Umbridge's old office.”

Harry retched, only partially in play. "Thank Merlin you didn't bring that up. Disgusting." He picked up a saucer covered with pink rosettes from the place where it had landed, miraculously unbroken, on the ground. Did it have some kind of unbreakable spell? Could it be dangerous?

"There's really nothing for it," Draco said, and then he pointed his wand at the dubious pile of odds and ends. "Evanesco, Evanesco, Evanesco."

"What happened to protecting priceless artifacts?" Harry asked.

"I think I can tell what's junk and what's not," Draco responded, directing his wand at another pile. "If you want to save any of the dark odds and ends you've been keeping for lessons, you better hurry up and sort them out before I get to them."

Harry scrambled to grab a few of the actually useful things that he'd found around the room and deposit them in the aquarium in the back. He was quiet, listening to Draco's voice in the dark castle, saying a spell that he probably didn't even need to speak aloud now, but the voice was comforting. "Evanesco. And you too. Evanesco."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Harry found himself staring out the window in class again. Merlin, it looked so peaceful out on the grounds. The sun was shining, the long slope of the hill down to the Forbidden Forest was alive with green, and a thestral was swooping over the treetops on the horizon. If only he could be out there--

"Professor Potter?" Harry startled and looked back at the class. "You didn't finish giving the instructions."

Merlin. Daydreaming: easier to get away with if you weren't the one teaching.

"Right." Harry straightened his shoulders. "We're starting a unit on all kinds of dark disguises today. We've already done some things on transformations, so you should realize that animal transformation is one way to disguise yourself. Of course, there are lots of ways to disguise yourself that have nothing to do with dark or light, but people can use them for all sorts of good or bad reasons and--

"Professor Potter? My nose is bleeding. Can I go to Madame Pomfrey?" One of the Gryffindor girls had her hand pressed to her nose, trying to stem the spurts of blood.

Harry sighed. Sure, he could have the girl turn out her pockets and find the nosebleed nougat. But what good would that do anyone? If she was already this desperate to get out of class, he might as well--

"Yes, Penny, you can--"

He was interrupted by the stomach-turning sound of another student, retching twice and making a run for the wastebasket while spewing down his front. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Penny's best friend, getting sick moments after her bloody nose. Why couldn't they at least be subtle about using Skiving Snacks? "I guess you'll have someone to make sure you get there. Both of you--"

And then the sympathy gagging started. Harry rushed to clean up the mess and open the window, sending a breath of fresh air through the classroom. Still, by the time the two students were gone and everyone had stopped gagging and complaining about how gross the room smelled, Harry couldn't remember what he'd been saying. Something about transformations and disguises. He sighed.

"Do any of you know why this might be important to learn?"

There were a few of the students staring at him, wide eyed and curious, others were passing notes or staring out the window. A student in the back row let out a soft snore. 

Harry started pacing the rows, striving to keep his voice even. It was no good shouting at them again. "My fourth Defense professor was actually a Death Eater. It took the whole school most of the year to notice that he wasn't the person he was pretending to be, and in that time, he did a lot of harm. I want you all to be able to recognize when--

"Sorry, Professor," Hariot interrupted, putting his hand in the air at the same time that he started talking. "No offense, but that's you, isn't it? I mean, none of us have got Death Eaters trying to kill us, so--"

Sam spun around in their seat, glaring at Hariot. "That's kind of the point of this class, isn't it, Devon? So we learn how to do it before it actually happens to us, because by then it might be too late."

Devon Hariot rolled his eyes, but the exchange had captured the attention of most of the class, and Harry jumped on it. "I want you all to think hard. With all the tools that magic folk have, what are some of the ways that someone could disguise themselves? What can we be looking for?"

It wasn't a total disaster of a class, Harry told himself, leaning heavily on the doorframe. Nothing caught fire, and nobody hexed anybody else. Still, as all the students burst out the door at the end of the class, Harry couldn't help but feel like a failure. Maybe one of his teachers had been a disguised Death Eater trying to kill him, but kids still hadn't been trying to skive off Barty Crouch Jr.'s class. Nobody fell asleep when Barty Crouch Jr. was teaching. 

A bolt of inspiration struck, and Harry jolted upright. He needed to find Draco. 

*** *** *** 

Draco had conveniently neglected to give the map back, which meant he actually had to search. It meant checking the common room, and then the library, and then realizing it was almost time for dinner and that everyone would be heading to the Great Hall right now, and if Harry really wanted to talk to Draco, he'd have to go too.

He was making it to the Great Hall for more meals lately. It shouldn't feel like a big deal, but the wave of noise washed over him, and Harry stood still in the midst of the chaos for a moment, breathing. These were happy sounds. This was good chaos. He found the glow of Malfoy's head from the entrance and kept his eyes locked on that beacon as he made his way across the hall.

"Oh Harry," Hermione looked pleased. A little too pleased. Her eyes were wide, a smile stretched across her face. "You made it for dinner. Draco was worried he wasn't going to see anything of you _today._ "

Harry opened his mouth to retort that he'd spent the past half an hour hiking all over the castle searching for Draco, but then he realized, with a jolt like apparition, what Hermione was trying to communicate to him.

It was June 5th. Of course he'd _known_ that, he'd written it on the blackboard. And he'd known that Draco's birthday was coming up. He'd gotten Draco a gift. It's just that his brain had somehow failed to connect these two things as relevant facts.

Time to recover. "Right. I spent the past half an hour looking all over the castle for you. I've got a gift for you up in my trunk." This was not the best time to discuss Polyjuicing into each other for the next Defense lessons to see if the kids could pick up on anything different. Now that he thought about it, maybe the whole discussion of polyjuicing into each other was a conversation that he and Draco should have in private anyway, just in case Draco wanted to do anything other than teach a class while they were--

"Wow, there's a cake," Harry observed. And so there was--a perfectly iced cake sat in the middle of the table between the five of them. 

Hermione grinned. "We went and asked the House Elves if we could do something special, and they helped us make this."

"And by that," Pansy said, "Hermione means they let us hold things while they whipped this up."

"It's great." Harry felt a little breathless. Draco still hadn't said anything to him. He wasn't even really looking at Harry. Harry slid into the seat next to Draco and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Happy birthday." He wanted to say something that would make up for the fact that this wasn't the first thing he'd said to Draco this morning. Now he was trying to be extra cheery. He was smiling the way Hermione had when she spotted him, and he knew it looked odd and forced. 

"Thanks." Draco replied, and Harry could tell that Draco was trying to be extra cheery, too. He wasn't asking Harry if he'd forgotten, and it wasn't because he didn't suspect. It was because Draco didn't want to hear the answer. 

Harry looked at the others. They were the ones who'd actually remembered Draco's birthday and made sure there was something special about it. Hermione had even managed to clue Harry in. They were better friends to Draco than Harry was, but right now Harry wanted nothing more than to get Draco away from them so he could try to make things right.

He leaned over and whispered in Draco's ears, and it might have come out as sort of a growl because he was feeling pretty highly stressed.

"Eat fast. You're mine after dinner."

Draco managed a smirk, but there was a bright flush climbing up from his collar, and Harry grinned.

He was pretty sure he hadn't managed to growl quietly enough for the rest of the table to miss, because after that, Pansy sliced the cake and put a serving on everybody's plate. "Eat up and get out of here."

The cake was delicious, and in between bites, Harry managed to eat an apple. He noticed, distantly, that Draco and he seemed to have reversed roles. Draco took some bites of the cake and made a show of thanking everyone for it, but after that he just picked at everything, and finally Harry got impatient and stood. "See you later," Harry said to the other three, grabbing Draco's hand. 

"Hopefully not," Pansy hollered at their backs. 

Harry managed to get Draco outside the doors of the Great Hall before he spun to look at him. "Well. It's your birthday. What do you want to do?" Harry meant to leave the door open for anything, but he was pretty sure his voice made it clear just what he wanted to do with Draco at this point.

Draco raised one eyebrow in an attempt to keep looking cool and aloof. "I actually quite want to know what my birthday present is before I make any more decisions about tonight."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You want to know if I actually remembered to get you anything ahead of time."

There was a flicker of emotion across Draco's face. "Just curious," he said, keeping his voice light.

"Just curious, hmm. I'll race you to the room. If I get there first, you have to share whatever sugary treats your mom sent you today."

Harry took off, only to hear Draco whining at his elbow, "Why do you always want to run everywhere?"

*** *** *** 

Harry _had_ actually thought of Draco's birthday ahead of time, and he'd worried about it. When you were, at heart, a kid that had grown up wearing your cousin's gross hand-me-downs, a kid for whom any gift had felt like a miracle, how did you figure out what to give someone like Draco, who'd been given the best of everything from the moment he was born?

Draco eyed the brown paper package suspiciously. "What's this."

"It's your birthday gift," Harry grinned. "What, were you expecting it to be wrapped in old socks?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he flipped and turned the package, studying it from different angles and casting a quick jinx-detection charm on it.

"I didn't put a curse on your birthday present, Draco.."

"Mmm. Maybe not. Last time I opened a package from you I ended up with a green nose."

Harry laughed, and finally Draco started unwrapping the gift, untying the brown twine and peeling away the tape at the corners, unfolding the paper gingerly, and then turning over the framed canvas to see the picture that Harry had commissioned from Luna.

"I didn't know if you'd like it," Harry rushed. "It's kind of--I don't know. Maybe it's corny or maybe it's too much or something. But Luna had something like this painted on her ceiling when we went to her house, and I spent a bunch of time thinking about what I should get for someone like you, who's always had the best of everything, and I couldn't think of anything I could pick out that you'd like better than getting it yourself, but I really wanted to get a gift that would mean something, so--there's this."

Harry stared at the picture, suddenly wishing that he'd asked Luna to paint something less honest. Less obvious. It was Harry and Ron and Hermione and Draco and Pansy. And Neville, because at the last minute Harry had said Luna better at Neville as well, because for reasons Harry didn't understand, Draco and Neville seemed to get on. They were linked together by the golden word, painted again and again in Luna's spidery magical handwriting. Friends, friends, friends, friends.

Draco made a little sound, and Harry's eyes darted from the picture to Draco's face.

"Are you laughing?" Harry wasn't even sure if that would be a good thing or the worst thing of all.

"No. Yes." Draco took a deep breath, unsteady with suppressed laughter or something else. "I didn't think--I didn't think you'd think of something like this."

Harry realized that he'd been quietly panicking since the moment that he realized it was Draco's birthday, and finally he was starting to settle. Finally.

"You like it?"

Draco put a sticking charm on the portrait and hung in on the wall above his desk. Emotions were still flickering across his face too quickly for Harry to track all of them. A half smile, rapidly blinking eyes, a little huff of a sigh. But when Draco turned around, he nodded. "You did a good job."

Harry walked toward Draco. Well, he'd felt settled for about ten seconds. "Every now and then I manage," he grinned. This seemed like a time that he should reach out. In fact, it seemed like a time that his body should just know what to do. But his heart was pounding, anxious and quick. 

Draco was smirking again, at his hesitation this time. "Come on, Potter. We don't have all night."

And then Draco's hands were in Harry's hair and looped behind Harry's back, and even though the first touch still surprised Harry, he reached back. Draco was really pleased with the picture already, but Harry was hoping he could go two for two.

*** *** *** 

When Harry did get around to asking, Draco agreed to the Polyjuice trick, and Slughorn was happy to help Harry out by providing Polyjuice from his stores. Harry has thought switching bodies would be fun and definitely instructive right up until the moment that Draco and he were both standing in their room, wearing each other's clothes and holding their cups. Draco grinned and held his portion high. "To our health." Harry could tell from the silly ceremony that Draco was putting into it that Draco was feeling nervous about the exchange, too. Maybe he wasn't entirely pants at figuring out how Draco was feeling.

Harry had been plenty of other people, and he'd had many of his friends Polyjuice into him, which he still avoided thinking about. But suddenly the idea of giving Draco that close of a connection with Harry's body felt like a lot. Possibly too much. Draco was starting to know Harry's body, but this would be different, and Harry wasn't sure about doing this all at once.

"Uh, maybe we should--"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "This was your idea, Harry. It's purely _educational_."

Right. Harry raised his cup and took a gulp, and Draco mirrored his motions. And then, in a series of horrifying shifts, Draco became Harry's image, and Harry became Draco's.

Harry strode around the room, lifting his chin so that he was looking down at everything. "What a mess," he observed in the poshest voice he could manage. "These Gryffindors are always leaving their robes everywhere." He flicked at his own robe, hitching a sneer on this face.

Draco slouched past him, scowling. "Stop being so particular and leave my stuff alone."

"We're going to be late if we don't leave for the Defense class now," Harry added.

Draco ruffled his curls. "Fifteen minutes early isn't late, Malfoy. Relax, okay."

Harry was thrilled. "The first years are never going to figure out what's going on."

"Except that you're supposed to teach a lesson on Occlumency," Draco pointed out. "So the fact that you don't have much of a grasp on Occlumency or Legilimency could be problem."

Harry-as-Draco shrugged. "People see what they expect to see."

*** *** ***

When the first years streamed into the class, Draco-as-Harry bounced on the balls of his feet by the door, greeting them, and Harry-as-Draco stood at the front of the classroom, waiting for them all to take their seats.

When all the students were settled, he lifted his chin. "Let's begin with body awareness. Take a few breaths and focus on that breath in your lungs." He tried not to overdo it on the posh, imperious voice. Overdoing it would just as quickly catch the students' attention.

Draco-as-Harry slid into a student desk and fidgeted and peeked through the whole exercise. Harry thought it was a bit much, but none of the students noticed any difference.

They split the students into two groups, and Harry-as-Draco instructed his group to keep a journal of their emotions throughout the week. He'd chosen some of the tougher students for this group, the ones he worried about. When he was being Draco, they all listened to every word he said, even when he went on and on about their journals. Maybe having the power to read your students minds really was the key to being an effective teacher. He set them to writing and watched Draco with the other half of the class.

Draco-as-Harry was reading through scenarios where somebody could be using a dark disguise and leading the students through a discussion of how they'd figure out the disguise.

"How can you test for potions?" Draco pressed them.

Several of the kids looked around the room, thoughtful. "Maybe a spell. Is there something to find out if they've taken anything recently?"

Sam raised a hand. "Most potions wear off after a while. That's what Madame Pomfrey told me. If you don't have daily or even hourly access to the potion you're taking, it won't last."

"Exactly," Draco-as-Harry exclaimed, pointing at Sam in a dramatic gesture. "Five points to Gryffindor for Sam finding the simple solution. How do you find out if somebody's been changing their appearance with a potion?"

Harry walked across the room to stand next to his body, and the students scrambled to answer the question.

"You watch everything they drink."

"Keep them from having whatever they've been drinking until they turn back."

"Yes," Harry said, and he could hear that his voice was lower. "If you can separate the person from any potions they might be taking, one of the most efficient solutions..."

"Is to wait," Draco-as-Harry added, grinning as his hair paled and flattened. Harry looked away. The transformation was uncomfortable to watch, and it was much more entertaining to watch the expressions on the students' faces as they looked on in horror.

"Are you serious? Sam cried, pounding their fists on their desk. "You've been disguised as each other the whole time?"

"Yep," Harry grinned, rolling his sleeves up. Why did Draco have such long arms? "The good news is that neither of us intended you any harm. But you can see just how easy it is to miss, even with people you see every day."

The students rushed out of the class at the end of the period, all protesting that they'd known something was wrong, they just hadn't said anything about it.

Harry grinned at Draco.

"That was weird."

"So weird," Draco agreed. "Do you want to see if we can fool our friends in the Great Hall?

"Seems only fair, since Ron and I got you six years ago."

Draco's head snapped to look at Harry. "What?"

Harry lifted his flask of Draco-Polyjuice. "Cheers." He took a deep swig and put his long legs to use, easily keeping ahead as Draco jogged to keep up, shouting. "What did you and Ron do six years ago?"

*** *** *** 

It was a bad night. There had been so many okay nights lately that the badness of it grabbed Harry and shook him hard. This time the nightmare was Colin Creevey, laying destroyed in the Great Hall. He'd been a good fighter. A good student. In the end, none of it had protected him.

Draco crawled into bed with Harry. It was comforting to have Draco beside him, of course it was. 

But it didn't fix things. It didn't change the fact that it had been a year, and Harry still couldn't seem to get enough distance from the war to stop having these nightmares. It didn't change the fact that Colin was gone because he'd fought for Harry. It didn't change the fact that Harry was _still here._

So when he faced Healer Goodnight, instead of telling her about Lacey and Ron and talking to Draco in the Defense office, what he said was. "I'm a ghost."

Healer Goodnight frowned. Today she was wearing earcuffs that glimmered with tufts of dandelion fluff, and she fiddled with one of them as she studied Harry. It was the only thing that changed about her appearance from week to week, Harry realized. The black robes were the same as always, her hair, her shoes. Everything was the same. He wondered if that was some gesture of goodwill toward her patients. Trying to keep things consistent.

She couldn't seem to figure out what to say, so Harry plowed on. "Do you know the story of the Deathly Hallows? You're not from a magical family, are you? It's one of the stories that some Wizarding kids grow up with, but it's not something they touch on at Hogwarts."

She smiled. "I know the story. I happen to really like reading, especially stories that make me think about how people are. The Deathly Hallows is a good story for that. Is that related to what you said about feeling like a ghost?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. The whole point of having a counselor like her was to make sure that he could tell her the things, all the things. Still--this was a lot to tell anyone.

"I died," he said. "Voldemort cast the killing curse on me. There was nothing to protect myself with. I was knocked out, and I went--somewhere else. I should have stayed dead, but I think that because I had all the Deathly Hallows, I didn't. I came back. I had a choice. I told myself I had to come back and make sure Voldemort was taken care of, so I came back."

Healer Goodnight tapped her fingers against her earcuff, but she didn't say anything.

"Ghosts aren't people like they were when they were alive. They're just the imprint a soul leaves behind. They can't sleep and can't eat, and all they can do is live in their own history. Ghosts choose to stay like a shadow instead of going on. Instead of dying properly like they're supposed to." He spread his hands in front of himself, waiting for her to see it the way he did. If he wasn't a ghost, he might as well be.

Healer Goodnight nodded slowly. "You're not a ghost, Harry. As for the rest of it--I've never heard of magic that can bring someone back from the dead. Not outside of stories. I guess that makes your story even more unusual. It must be hard to find people to talk to about this."

His hands twitched. He pinched one of his fingers to keep from reaching for his wand. "You don't understand. I didn't deserve a choice. Colin Creevey. Cedric Diggory. Remus. They deserved a choice. All of them were just taken, and I'm still here."

She made a soft noise in the back of her throat, but didn't speak. Not to comfort, not to ask questions.

"I don't want to spend my whole life hiding from death. I thought that I would face death when it came, but I tried to face it, and I didn't have the follow through. I couldn't go on. I'm just here like a shadow. And some days it's almost like life. Some days I can actually--I can eat the birthday cake, or whatever. But then night comes, and I remember that no matter how good things are for a second, I'm never going to get away from these nightmares."

Damn it. He wanted to stand. Move. Get away from here. The silence felt like it was squeezing him to pieces. 

When Healer Goodnight finally spoke, her voice was gentle and sure. "You don't owe death a single thing. And you don't owe the people that died anything that you haven't already given them. You're certainly not a ghost, Harry. The person I see come in here every week is full of life and all the mess that comes with it. You're full of care for your students, your friends, and your boyfriend. You're full of emotions and thoughts and hopes. Your history is something you think about a lot. That doesn't make you a ghost, that makes you a person who lived through exceptionally difficult times and kept doing what needed to be done. Your history does not own you."

Harry looked down, half expecting his legs and hands glowing with ghostly transparency. Instead, he saw that his knee was bouncing again, and he forced it still.

"I can't answer all your questions for you, Harry, but I think I can tell you this: You're alive, Harry. You're so alive, it rubs off on the people around you. All this mess you're feeling--the trouble sleeping and eating and all of the thinking about your past--it's a part of the mess of being alive."

Harry closed his eyes, he had the strangest feeling, as if someone had cast a spell over him that made him feel more solid.

"And I'm going to say one more thing, for good measure: The world is a better place because you're alive in it. I'm glad you're here."

There was a small, rushing panic in Harry's chest when she said that, the protests he wanted to make about how many people had lost their lives because of him, and how the world would have been better with them in it. But that didn't negate what Healer Goodnight was saying. He forced himself to nod.

"I'm not the Master of Death anymore," he said. "I got rid of the wand and the stone. In case you were wondering. If I die now, it'll be permanent. I won't have a choice." At least, Harry thought so. He hoped so. There were only so many back doors on death. "Just like everyone else who died."

"But you kept the cloak?"

"Er, yes. Draco and I have been using it to sneak around and...." he trailed off awkwardly, but Dr. Goodnight was already laughing.

"I will never be able to read the story of the Deathly Hallows the same way again. I'm sorry." she cleared her throat. "You chose to keep the cloak. And in the story, that lets the youngest brother hide from death until he's ready to go. It's a good ending."

She said it as though she still wasn't sure that Harry was telling the truth, as if she thought that he had an invisibility cloak, but probably not really one that could let him hide from death. 

"Speaking of the life ahead of you, do you want to return to any of our previous conversations? A few weeks ago, you were thinking a lot about what would come when you were finished with school."

Harry closed his eyes. "I just can't think right now. Every time I try to get to an answer about that question, I get just as sidetracked as I did when we talked. I know that Hermione would be able to tell me an answer. Ron probably would, too. Anyone probably could tell me a good answer, but I can't tell myself anything."

"Maybe there isn't an answer?" Healer Goodnight ventured.

Harry gave her a dark look.

"That was a little on the cryptic side," she laughed. "You seem to think about things as what you _have_ to do next. Do you have a place that you can live next year?"

"Yes," Harry said. She already knew that. He'd mentioned Grimmauld place and Kreecher before.

"Are you worried about having enough money?"

"No." The idea was almost laughable. If anything, he needed to start thinking about where he wanted to start donating the old gold from the Black family vaults.

"Many people find a lot of meaning and satisfaction in their jobs. Graduating from school and deciding on a career path is an exciting rite of passage. But you have choices, Harry. Don't make this decision because you feel like you owe something." She glanced at the clock and leaned forward in her chair. "Now, we changed your appointment to an earlier time today so you could attend the last Quidditch match. You better head back to the castle--I know how crowded the stands can get."

As Harry prepared to go, he looked around the room. He'd gotten used to this place, to the non-magic surface of things and the magic hidden just below. It seemed right. It still wasn't a place that he was comfortable. He felt nervous about coming here and facing Healer Goodnight every single week. But he'd done it enough times now that he was getting used to this. Maybe that was part of not being a ghost: getting used to new things, finding new ways to tie himself to life. 

*** *** ***

Harry was doing his best to be on time to the Quidditch match. That was the whole point of meeting with Healer Goodnight so early this morning. But he couldn't find the Gryffindor flag that Hermione had given him for cheering, and Draco was leaning against the doorway in a more rigid, impatient, you're-going-to-make-us-late-Potter way than usual.

"Got it!" Harry panted, spotting the edge of the flag under his bed and pouncing. "Let's go."

"I suppose you'll want to run again," Draco huffed, but by the time he'd finished, Harry was already past him and halfway out the door. Draco might complain about running, but he was fast. Harry needed the head start.

They pelted into the corridor outside the Headmistress's office only to screech to a halt before running into McGonagall.

"Running in the corridors?" Her mouth twisted, and Harry wasn't sure if she was trying to contain laughter or displeasure. "I should take points from your houses. But I have something to discuss with the two of you."

"Professor," Harry protested. "We're going to be late for the last match--"

She turned her back and walked into the office. "I have not missed a Gryffindor match since I came to Hogwarts, Mister Potter, and I don't intend to start. Let's take care of this matter quickly.”

Draco and Harry followed her into the office, and Harry realized that the color had gone from Draco's face.

"Sit down, gentlemen. And I'll thank you to actually listen to what I have to say before you start spouting objections at me."

Draco and Harry exchanged a look as they sat. That didn't seem like a good start.

"First of all, I have no intention of placing Mister Malfoy in the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Draco responded like Draco. His chin lifted a fraction of an inch and his nostrils narrowed, but he gave no other sign that he'd even heard the headmistress. Harry opened his mouth to object. He'd been too quiet before, he hadn't explained to McGonagall just how much of the work Draco actually did with the class. he hadn't told her about how kids stopped Draco in the corridors to thank him, or--

"Mister Potter," McGonagall continued before he could speak. "I have not asked your leave to perform a play in three acts, just to explain my position. I feel that assigning Malfoy the Defense Against the Dark Arts class would be contrary to his natural talents and inclinations."

Draco's fingers tightened, ever so slightly, on the arms of the chair.

"That's not--"

"Because Draco has always been a much stronger Potions student, and I believe the rapport he has demonstrated would easily transfer to the Potions position."

There was a shocked silence, and McGonagall leaned back in her seat, looking pleased. "If you'd like to respond now, gentlemen, feel free."

"You're--offering me a job?" Draco said slowly.

She raised an eyebrow. "You tried to help yourself to one. You told me all the reasons why it would be foolish not to consider you. Why are you surprised now that you've got your offer?"

Harry smiled, because that was it, wasn't it? Draco could make every argument for himself, but when it came down to people actually choosing him--to anybody else seeing the good in him, it was always a shock. He took one of Draco's hands and squeezed it.

"But..." Draco looked down at their hands and then up at the Headmistress again. "You want me for Potions?"

She nodded. "Your OWLs results and what I've heard from professors indicate that you have a strong aptitude for Potions. As I've told Harry, it's been an ongoing struggle getting Slughorn to remain through the end of the year. I do hope you won't spend your entire career angling to become a Defense professor."

"But Slughorn--Potions--he thinks--"

The Headmistress raised one eyebrow. "Professor Slughorn said all your recent work was up to scratch."

Draco, apparently tired of babbling in half-sentences, closed his mouth, and Harry had to nudge him. "Draco, are you going to take the position?"

"Of course I am," Draco said, looking shocked. "I mean. Yes. Thank you. I'm glad you could see what a mutually beneficial arrangement..." He backtracked when he saw McGonagall's expression. "I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Harry's heart thundered as McGonagall turned on him. If she had offered Draco the job, his answer would have been easy.

"Well, Mister Potter. Now that's taken care of, do you care to clue us in on your plans?"

Harry opened his mouth. "I can't teach here next year."

There was no mistaking the disappointment in the Headmistresses eyes, even as she forced a smile. "The Ministry will be thrilled to hear it."

"I'm not going to work for them, either. Not next year. I mean, maybe a bit. I'd like to help Hermione get her new department sorted out, and if I can, I'll probably spend some time doing that."

"That sounds like a worthwhile use of your time."

"But I can't work for the Ministry properly. I'm not going to commit to that," Harry said. "I'm going to stick at figuring out what's going on in my head and how to live with everything."

His words seemed to startle McGonagall, who cleared her throat. "As you should, Potter. As we all should"

"I think I'm going to go to the sea," Harry said, talking more quickly now. "And I'll see a bunch of Harpies matches, although I don't suppose Ginny will play too much when she's just getting started, and I'm going to have dinners with Ron and hear about his cases. And I'm going to snog Draco as often as possible."

Draco and McGonagall looked, similarly, like they wished Harry had left that out of the discussion.

"I'm going to figure out how to be healthy. And maybe happy. And then, I'll think about coming back. If there's a place for me."

McGonagall frowned. "If there's a place for you where?"

"As faculty. At Hogwarts. It doesn't have to be the Defense position, like you said. I could teach Muggle Studies, although we are going to rename that. I suppose I'd be pretty pants at instructing Transfiguration, but I could give it a try."

"You're saying that you'd like me to reserve you a job? It's not as though I can wait a year--"

"The particular position I'm interested in has come up every year I've been alive. I think I'll chance it. This is what I'm going to do." The more Harry spoke, the more certain he felt. "The thing is--I'm not doing well. I killed Voldemort, and everything's supposed to be better now, but things don't feel right. I don't feel right. There are so many people I haven't even really talked to since the end of the war. The only time I deal with what happened is when I'm sleeping and I haven't done enough of that this year. I've been seeing a mind-healer, and I want everything to be faster, but it's not."

McGonagall opened her mouth, and there was a long pause before she said. "The things you've had to carry. I shouldn't have asked--I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head fiercely. "No. Your letter inviting me to teach Defense was the first thing that got me out of my funk last summer. I would never have gotten this far in figuring things out if not for the students. But I think any choice I made right now would be wrong, because I can't make choices right now. And I don't want to end up being a teacher that isn't safe for kids because I made the wrong choice."

He looked up and found McGonagall's eyes, hard and steady, on him. "I forget, sometimes," she said. "I forget how young you were. How young you are."

Harry wanted to protest that this had nothing to do with being young, but he said nothing.

"Very well, Potter. I think it's a very wise decision you're making. And Mister Malfoy, welcome to the Hogwarts staff. I'll have Professor Slughorn speak with you about visiting some of his classes with the younger students and discussing the curriculum and texts used."

This was really good. Harry looked at the expression on Draco's face, which was clearly trying to be calm and collected, but was actually sparking with energy. "But, Headmistress," Draco said before she could shepherd him out the door. "You never mentioned Lacey. If I've got the position, is she going to be staying here?"

McGonagall sighed. "It was a bit of a mess. I had a rather large discussion with Kingsley about it, but I think we have a plan. She's technically the ward of Hogwarts School now, but you're the one down on all the paperwork to take care of her. We'll have to have those two...ministry officials back to get everything squared away. It means you'll have to stay at the castle this summer and get permission if you're going to take her anywhere farther than Hogsmeade."

Harry grinned. There was something really excellent about the fact that Draco hadn't gotten distracted by getting a job or Harry's decision. He wanted to know that Lacey was safe. Harry had no idea what they were going to do with a twelve-year-old at Hogwarts all summer, but they could figure that out together.

"And you'll be glad to know that the ministry has evaluated her sisters, both of whom showed some magical capabilities, and will be keeping a surveillance charm over the house. If they find evidence that the girls are unsafe, they will be removed. Meanwhile they're trying to convince the parents to participate in an educational program for non-magic parents of Wizarding children. The program's only in the developmental stages, but I believe Miss Granger thinks she can help them get that started next year along with all the other things she's getting up to."

Harry had a feeling he would end up involved in that one way or another.

"And with that," McGonagall said, looking out the window, "I believe that all three of us have a Quidditch match to attend. Gryffindor looks poised to take the cup again."

Harry grinned. There were good players on the team this year, and without having to worry about the drama of whether or not Harry would be able to complete a match, they were a lot more consistent. "I think they're going to destroy Slytherin,"

"Maybe this year," Draco scoffed. "But next year I'm going to be on staff here, and I'm going to be sure that the Slytherin team knows how to play properly."

Harry felt like his feet were flying over the grounds toward the Quidditch stands, and Draco was laughing at his side, huffing as he tried to keep up. "Slow down, Potter."

"I don't want to miss a second of it," Harry grinned. Gryffindor versus Slytherin for the final time. "Merlin, I wish I were flying today. I wish we were both flying today."

Draco laughed bitterly. "That's just because you like beating me at things. We can do that any time."

Harry grinned and tugged on Draco's arm, since he was getting slow. It wasn't just about beating Draco, it was about being a part of the team. It was about the people in the stands, craning their necks and screaming when he did something dangerous on his broom. It was about his favorite thing at Hogwarts, something he was good at that was untouched by all the Dark Arts. But for today it would be enough to be part of the screaming stands, cheering for Gryffindor to take the cup.

Draco didn't protest when Harry dragged him into the Gryffindor cheering section, even if he did glance around with an irritated expression at some of the banners. Hermione spotted them coming and jumped up, waving her hand. "Oh, Harry, Draco. You made it!"

"Here we are!" Harry grinned. "And we have excellent news."

Ron and Pansy and Neville looked over, and Harry turned to Draco.

Draco frowned at Harry. "If you're going to set it up like this is more exciting than Quidditch, why don't you tell them?"

Harry shook his head. "It's at least as exciting as Quidditch. And they're going to start soon, so--"

Draco huffed, but Harry could tell he was only half as annoyed as he was pretending to be. "They're going to let Lacey stay at Hogwarts with me over the summer."

Hermione jumped a little, clapping her hands. The gesture reminded Harry of a younger Hermione, one who hadn't gotten quite so fed up with the Ministry.

Pansy grinned. "Does that mean that you--"

"I've been offered a position on staff at Hogwarts," Draco affirmed, pausing to drag out the suspense. So much for him not wanting to make the announcement. "As the Professor of Potions."

There was a lot of shouting and back pounding and excitement, and then a whistle blew, and everyone turned to watch the teams kick off.

"Everyone's flying now," Luna announced. "I wish I could go for a fly. We all should. It's such a beautiful day for flying. Nearly nargle-free. Although it is kind of sad that this is the last Quidditch game of the year."

The game was a dream. Luna's hilarious commentary had Ron in fits of laughter the whole time, and Ginny was playing chaser, scoring goal after goal on the Slytherin keeper. Draco taught their little cheering section the new song he'd made for Ginny and they listened as the song spread farther each time Ginny scored another goal.

True, there was a dull ache inside Harry when he looked up at the Gryffindor Seeker. There was a part of him that wanted to be up on the broom, a part of him that could remember all the Quidditch that Ginny and he had played together and how they'd come back to the common room laughing so hard that they couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure which he missed more--quidditch or Ginny.

 _It's okay to miss things,_ he told himself. It was okay to think of his history and miss it. He was more than the imprint of the soul. He was standing here now, cheering for Ginny with his friends, and even with everything he missed, the feeling inside of him was more happy than not.

*** *** ***

The game wrapped up, and after everybody had cheered and sang a last rousing chorus of "Weasley is our King," after Luna had left the announcing booth to run onto the field and ride a victory lap around the field with Ginny, after the Gryffindors had disappeared into the changing room and Harry's friends had joined the slow procession back up to the castle, Hermione turned to him.

"If Draco's going to be Potions professor, does that mean that you took the job as Defense teacher?"

Harry laughed, shining with all the good feelings of the game, and said. "No, I told McGonagall that I'm not going to do anything next year."

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together, and she stopped walking. "What?"

"I told McGonagall that there would be jobs for me when I wanted them, and that I wanted to take a year off to catch up on my sleep," Harry grinned.

"But Harry--why would you--there's so much--how can you just--" Hermione's eyebrows weren't the only part of her face pulled together in confusion and frustration. "Harry, you can't just quit."

Harry spun around, and he felt Draco put a hand on his elbow. "I can," he said fiercely. "I can just quit. I'm not locked in by some prophecy anymore. I'm not the chosen one, and it doesn't matter how bad Robards and McGonagall want me. I _can_ quit before this kills me."

"Harry, if the teaching is that stressful...."

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry snapped. "How do you not understand this? How do you not see this? It's not the teaching, it's the living."

Hermione opened her mouth, shocked, but Harry didn't want to stick around, not even to explain that he wasn't quitting the living thing, he just needed a break so he could make sure he was doing it right. This was the right thing to do, he knew this was right, but Hermione always thought she knew better.

Harry let his feet carry him away from the celebrants. He'd catch up with Ginny later and tell her what a great game she'd played. He really would this time. But right now he didn't want his bad feelings passing to anybody else, and he found himself sitting back in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Maybe he could finally mark the students' quizzes. It was actually easier to think about now. There was only a week left, and all of it would be taken up with examinations. And then he'd be done, truly done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Why is this chapter so long? No one knows. It's not even that thematically linked...


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school year is coming to a close, but there are so many good things ahead for our favorite magic kids.

**Chapter 13**

When Harry heard footsteps at the doorway, he didn't look up. "Draco. Found me again. You're getting such good use out of the map."

"Uh, before you say anything we both regret, I'm not Malfoy."

Harry’s gaze jerked up, startled. He’d assumed that the only person who would come looking for him was Draco. 

But here was Ron, balanced awkwardly on the threshold like he wasn’t sure he should come inside. "And are you telling me you gave the map to a Slytherin?"

Harry hadn't meant to permanently give the map to Draco, but he realized he was going to have to actually take it back if he wanted it. And he’d have to do it soon--the Marauders probably didn't want it ending up in the possession of a Hogwarts Professor.

Ron decided it was safe to enter. "I didn't get a chance to say anything, but I like your plan for next year. I think it'll be a good thing for you. And I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you about not going to work for the Aurors. I--I think I was afraid I wouldn't go through with it if. I didn’t want to tell you that we weren't going to spend the rest of our days fighting dark wizards side-by-side."

'"But that's not what you want to do."

"I mean, I would. If we had to. If we have to again, you know I'll be by your side."

Harry straightened his shoulders. "You're really good at the law stuff."

"You think so?" Ron sank into one of the student desks and tapped his fingers on the surface.

"Of course," Harry said. "I'd be a fool not to notice. It's like you said about the chess thing."

"But Hermione's been such a big part of everything I've done so far, and maybe if she's not involved..." 

"First off, you're going to be excellent, and second, you're mental if you don't think Hermione will get involved with things. I don't think she has a setting for not getting involved."

Ron shrugged. "You're probably right. I have a feeling she's going to drag me into a bunch of things for her department."

"Probably," Harry grinned. "I didn't dare tell Hermione because I knew she'd start scheming, but I thought I might use some of my time to help her out. See what that's like."

Ron grinned. "That would get her scheming. It would be good to team up on some things."

It would be good. It would be weird to try to follow this into a different world, one where Harry didn't know if he'd be any good, But even if Harry wasn't any good at it, and even if there were times that Hermione got way too invested in some idea and wouldn't listen to reason, it would be good. Because they were good together.

"Hermione's disappointed in me," Harry muttered. "She thinks I need to make a decision."

"That's not it," Ron said, frowning. "I mean, maybe you ought to talk to her more about it, but I don't think she's disappointed in you. I think she's mad at herself. Harry, we know this year's been hard for you. It's been hard on all of us in some way." His fingers flexed and relaxed. "But Hermione feels like we let you down. I mean, it makes sense now that Malfoy's had a close eye on you and all that, but we've done a shit job of being there for you. She’s afraid you’re giving up"

Harry fiddled with his wand. It felt a lot better to be always sort of angry with Ron and Hermione for having each other and forgetting about him when they weren't bringing it up. Now it was really awkward.

"I didn't want you to worry about me," he said. "After everything, I just wanted you both to get some kind of happy ending."

Ron sat down, and Harry watched his eyes travel around the room. He imagined that Ron was thinking about all the different ways this Defense room had looked and everything hat had happened here. But if he was being honest, Ron probably wasn't thinking about all that. Ron didn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the memories. 

Finally he spoke, "Harry, it's not like that--I mean, we're both glad that Voldemort is gone, of course. It's a huge relief. But Hermione's trying to patch things up with her parents and figure out how she's going to do her own thing in the future, and I'm so worried about my Mum and George all the time. And you know that she and I don’t always agree. The cases are the things we fight the least about. She always wants me to tell her things about how I'm feeling, and I don't even know how I'm feeling. It's a whole mess. We're not missing out on what's going on with you because we're off in some happy cloud and we forgot about you. We're just trying to dig through our own messes, and we let things with you slip."

Harry was quiet. All of them had been so tied up in trying to keep each other afloat for so long. They’d done such a good job of it on so many counts, but they all let things slip. He'd been just as guilty of not seeing what was really going on with Ron and Hermione, if guilt was even a part of the question. He'd missed that they were just trying to hold each other up, and he'd let it make him jealous.

"This is why it's a good thing I'm not making any big sweeping decisions." he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I can't see anything clearly right now."

Ron shrugged. "Neither of us has ever been much use at seeing the future. But we've always managed to deal with whatever came."

"What's coming will come," Harry said softly. It was another hum of memory, another imprint. But at least this memory was mostly good. 

*** *** ***

When Harry finally made it back to the eighth year common room that afternoon, the party was in full swing, and for once, the entire place was decorated with Gryffindor colors. Somebody had brought in a bunch of the Gryffindor players, and Luna was there, too, twirling in the corner. Harry grinned and caught a Butterbeer off one of the enchanted end tables.

"Harry!" Ginny grinned, shouldering Peaks and Coote out of the way so she could cross the room to greet him. "You're here!"

"Yeah. Sorry I'm late. That was an incredible game."

"It was, wasn't it! Merlin, I was so sure that something terrible was going to happen to the team so we couldn’t finish out the year, but look at us! We did it!”

"Yeah, it's a wonder what happens when I'm not there to throw everything into chaos."

"True," Ginny took a deep swig of her drink. By the time she put it down, she’d already banished the spark of sadness in her eyes. "Miss flying with you, though."

"Did you like the new song?"

"Of course I did! I've already given my compliments to Draco. I think the Harpies should have to pay him money for it."

Harry wondered if asking Ginny to help him find Draco fell under the heading of things Ginny didn't want to be asked about, but before he could decide whether or not to ask the question, she nodded toward the fireplace. "He's over there, Harry."

Harry spotted Draco, standing about as far into the corner as he could, looking at the twisting, churning common room with disgust. He was holding a cup of water. Harry felt a surge of affection. 

Harry sidled over to him. "What's a guy like you doing over here all alone?"

"Is this what the Gryffindor common room is always like?"

"Don't tell me that Slytherin didn't celebrate when they won."

"Of course. It was just more organized."

Harry laughed, but Draco was looking troubled by more than just the decor and the party. Harry knew he was perfectly capable of hiding out in their room until everyone went away.

"I know you're not Gryffindor's biggest fan," Harry grinned. "But you've got a lot to celebrate, too. What's wrong?"

Draco blew out a long stream of air, and Harry wondered how long Draco had been holding that breath. "I need to go talk to Lacey. Maybe tomorrow. Or something. But I need to tell her what they decided, and I know that she's going to be angry, but right now I really need her to like me. Or not despise me, at least."

"I'll go with you," Harry offered. "So she can remember that I'm the one who started everything and you're the one she likes."

Draco nodded, and his shoulders seemed to relax a little. "It's funny that all of this is almost over. One more week."

Harry had the feeling that he had Apparated without meaning to. His stomach jolted. "One week," he repeated. And then, "Since we only have one more week here, you should probably come dance with me."

Draco pressed his lips together. "I really like you, but it would take an Imperius to get me to dance."

Harry laughed so loudly that, even in the chaotic common room, several people turned to look. "I can’t dance, anyway. I just wanted to see what you'd say."

"You're such a pain." 

Harry looked up at Draco's face, wondering if he'd be wearing a look of exasperation or a superior smirk. But even though his tone had been impatient, his expression was soft and pleased. 

It seemed like the right moment to kiss Draco, and Harry didn't let himself second guess it. 

*** *** *** 

Draco decided it would be best to talk to Lacey in the newly cleaned and organized Defense against the Dark Arts Office. Harry was sitting in one of the chairs, leaving the teacher's seat open for Draco. 

But this time Draco was unable to sit still, opting to pace back and forth across the room. "What was I thinking? I cannot believe I thought I would be ready to take care of a child. What am I supposed to do with her?"

"Draco. You'll do fine. You're giving her a place to be where she won't have to be afraid of being herself all the time. That's already something."

"Yes," Draco snapped. "But that doesn't exactly fill up a schedule."

There was a knock on the door, and Draco froze. "Come in."

Lacey walked in. Her face was very pale, and she took slow steps across the room to sit on the other side of the desk. Draco stood behind the vacant chair, squeezing his wand in one hand. 

"Has McGonagall told you anything?"

Lacey shook her head, and her eyes dropped to her lap. "What did they decide?"

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Lacey, I know this wasn't what you were hoping to hear."

Lacey squeezed her kneecaps. Her jaw twitched. Harry trusted that Lacey was good, but he wondered if she would be able to control her reaction to the news. He slipped his wand out of his pocket.

Draco coughed again, and Harry put his hand over Draco’s to stop him. 

He could say it. He'd be the bad guy, if it meant Lacey would trust Draco more. "We can't send you home. It's not safe for you, and ultimately it could be just as dangerous for your little sisters. There's a plan to keep an eye on them. We will make sure they’re safe. During the summer holidays you'll be staying at Hogwarts. Draco will be your guardian, and I’ll be around, too."

Harry watched the dueling emotions on Lacey's face. There was sadness and probably a hint of anger, but there was no mistaking the relief. And then Lacey surprised both of them by leaning forward and letting out a low, sobbing moan.

Draco shot Harry a look, and Harry scrambled out of his seat so he could kneel beside her and place a hand on Lacey's back.

"I'm not going back," she sobbed. "I don't have to go back."

Harry wondered what it would have felt like, for someone to have told him that he didn't have to get on the train and go back to his fight with the Dursley's summer after summer after summer. 

"No," Draco said. He had moved to Lacey's other side. "You'll stay here with us. We'll go swimming in the lake," he glanced at Harry for help. 

Harry scrambled for ideas. "We'll help Hagrid with the unicorn foals, and we'll climb trees and look for hidden rooms in the castle. And if you want to have Sam to stay for a few weeks, we can probably do that, too."

Lacey looked up and scrubbed her sleeve over her eyes. "I think I'd like that."

*** *** *** 

Draco and Harry sat their NEWTs. The examiners had favored Harry a bit during the OWLs, but this was another level entirely. When Harry walked in to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical, Professor Tofty blinked at him in confusion. 

“I’m afraid I’ve never been in the position of testing someone so overqualified. Mister Potter, there is nothing I can ask you to do that you have not already accomplished. 

Harry protested. He insisted that Tofty examine his defensive spells. But it was comforting, especially since his potions practical had gone more pear-shaped than his potions usually did, lately. 

When they’d finished the last of their tests, he found Draco lying in the sun by the lake and sat next to him. Draco’s hair shone in the last of the sunlight, and Harry threaded his fingers through the silky strands. Maybe he was getting better at being the one to reach out. At least he was practicing. 

“How did the tests go?” Harry asked. 

Draco’s face had been all soft planes, and as soon as Harry asked the question, sharp angles appeared. 

“That bad.”

He moved his fingers out of Draco’s hair and pressed them to the lines in Draco’s forehead, trying to ease them away. Something had happened. Maybe one of the examiners had made a comment about Draco’s past. Or maybe Draco had been surprised by how hard the Arithmancy exam was. 

But then the tense muscles under Harry’s fingers relaxed. “It was--I’m glad they’re over. After everything, you’d think the tests wouldn’t really matter, but I still care so much. I really wanted to show them…” Draco shrugged. “But they’re over.”

Harry ran his finger over the contours of Draco’s face until it made Draco laugh. Draco might not be ready to hear it yet, but life was far too long for a test to prove anything about him. He’d been showing people all year. He’d be showing them who he really was with every day and year that passed. The tests had nothing to do with that.

*** *** ***

The Hufflepuffs won the house cup, and Harry clapped enthusiastically for them. He felt bad for the dejected-looking Gryffindors at their table, but Merlin did the Hufflepuffs deserve the win. Harry circled the tables during the feast, saying a final goodbye to his first years. He left the Gryffindor table for last, and not because he was avoiding Devon Hariot. Now that the year was over, all the obnoxious students seemed to like him better, even Devon.

When Harry reached the end of the table, he lowered himself into an empty seat and looked across the table at the moping Gryffindor. "I don't want you to leave," Sam said, setting their jaw.

"You'll still see me. Lacey wants to have you visit over the holiday. I'll be here all the time. And you can always owl me if there's anything you need." 

Sam looked up from their meal, and Harry was startled by just how serious their eyes looked. "What if I need you to stay?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't deserve how much Sam trusted him after all the mistakes he'd made. He’d let Sam down in more ways than he could name. And Sam still wanted him here. Sam still counted on him. "I can’t stay now, Sam. But I promise I’m trying to come back, better.”

Sam nodded seriously. "I will owl you."

“I’ll expect it.” Harry lingered at the table, even though he knew his friends were waiting at the eighth-year table with a spot for him. Ravi was mixing every drink on the table together into one goblet and Sam dared Devon Hariot to drink it, and everyone was laughing and so, so alive. 

He rarely thought about whether all of the losses had been worth it. It seemed like an unanswerable question. But even if he couldn’t say that everything had been worth it, right now his heart was so, so full. 

*** *** *** 

Harry had never watched the Hogwarts Express pull away and leave him at Hogwarts, but this time he did. All that was left as a tiny smudge of grey smoke against the summer-blue day and the three of them standing on the platform. 

Draco stood right beside him, holding Harry's hand in one of his own and resting the other on Lacey's shoulder. "Are you ready to go back up to the castle?"

Lacey nodded. "Yeah. I'm ready."

Harry stared at the place on the horizon where the train disappeared. This was a new kind of loss; this bittersweet goodbye to his students. He hoped they were safe this summer. He hoped they were ready for the dangers they’d face. 

Draco squeezed his hand and steered the chain back up the path toward the grounds. 

Harry had no doubt this summer would be exhausting. There would be moments when he’d doubt his choices. Moments when the grief would be too heavy to carry. 

But right now, all Harry could feel was the happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, this is going to get both sentimental and preachy. Reader beware: 
> 
> To all the readers who stuck with me though this story: Thank you so much. This year has been--so much for so many people. I abruptly lost my job working with students in March due to Coronavirus shut downs, and not a day goes by that I don't think about the kids in unsafe or unstable situations. That ended up playing a big part in writing this.   
> Big <3 to people in tough, unsafe, or unsupportive coronavirus situations. And big <3 to the adults who want to protect kids, but don't always have that power. 
> 
> On top of that, I've been really disappointed at the transphobia coming from an author of books that have given so many people powerful lessons about love, empathy, and justice. Every kid deserves to feel safe, cherished, and supported at Hogwarts. For me as a member of the fandom, the incredible fanfic, inclusive to so many different kinds of diversity, gives me a lot of hope. I hope my stories, in tiny ways, make Hogwarts more welcoming. 
> 
> See? I warned you it would be sentimental and preachy. Love y'all, and thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> If you find and tell me about typos, I'll shower you with gratitude. But like, in a somewhat restrained way.


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